
ft-;/ v*^V V^-;/ V^V V- 



^'/' 



*-.°- /.^ 






v V** 






: V 




•0 



H o 

V 




*11R : J^ -SB?' 






; 







1 'Vm': tlf ' ; 



v- 



HUlipM 



OP 



ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY: 

CONSISTING OF 

©ftr fjrait < §sMb, Soup, anb ®%t ^xtm, 

OF THE EARLIER POETS, 

WITH SOME OF LATER DATE, NOT INCLUDED IN ANY OTHER EDITION, 

COLLECTED 

BY THOMAS PERCY, D.D., 

u 

BISHOP OF PROMORE. 



TO WHICH IS NOW ADDED 

A SUPPLEMENT OF 
MANY CURIOUS HISTORICAL AND NARRATIVE BALLADS, 

REPRINTED FROM RARE COPIES. 



% €ny\n% dhssarg anb %n\t%. 




Ililsfttlplis: 

CHARLES DESILVER, 253 MARKET STREET. 

BOSTON: 
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO. 

1855. 









Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by 

FREDERICK BELL, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for tho Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 




xtina. 



The reader is here presented with select 
remains of our ancient English Bards and 
Minstrels, an order of men, who were once 
greatly respected by our ancestors, and con- 
tributed to soften the roughness of a martial 
and unlettered people by their songs and by 
their music. 

The greater part of them are extracted 
from an ancient folio manuscript, in the Edi- 
tor's possession, which contains near two hun- 
dred Poems, Songs, and Metrical Romances. 
This MS. was written about the middle of 
the last century ; but contains compositions 
of all times and dates, from the ages prior to 
Chaucer, to the conclusion of the reign of 
Charles I.* 

This manuscript was shown to several 
learned and ingenious friends, who thought 
the contents too curious to be consigned to 
oblivion, and importuned the possessor to se- 
lect some of them and give them to the press. 
As most of them are of great simplicity, and 
seem to have been merely written for the peo- 
ple, he was long in doubt, whether, in the 
present state of improved literature, they 
could be deemed worthy the attention of the 
public. At length the importunity of his 
friends prevailed, and he could refuse nothing 
to such judges as the Author of the Rambler 
and the late Mr. Shenstone. 

Accordingly such specimens of ancient 
poetry have been selected, as either show the 
gradation of our language, exhibit the pro- 
gress of popular opinions, display the pecu- 

* Chaucer quotes the oM Romance of ''LibiusDisconius," 
and some others, which are found in this MS. It also con- 
tains several Songs relating to the Civil War in the last 
century, but not one that alludes to the Restoration. 



liar manners and customs of former ages, or 
throw light on our earlier classical poets. 

They are here distributed into volumes, 
each of which contains an independent series 
of poems, arranged chiefly according to the 
order of time, and showing the gradual im- 
provements of the English language and poet- 
ry from the earliest ages down to tlie pre- 
sent. Each volume, or series, is divided into 
three books, to afford so many pauses, or 
resting places to the reader, and to assist him 
in distinguishing between the productions 
of the earlier, the middle, and the latter 
times. 

In a polished age, like the present, I am 
sensible that many of these reliques of an- 
tiquity will require great allowances to be 
made for them. Yet have they, for the most 
part, a pleasing simplicity, and many artless 
graces, which in the opinion of no mean 
critics* have been thought to compensate for 
the want of higher beauties, and if they do 
not dazzle the imagination, are frequently 
found to interest the heart. 

To atone for the rudeness of the more ob- 
solete poems, each volume concludes with a 
few modern attempts in the same kind of wri- 
ting: and, to take off from the tediousness of 
the longer narratives, they are everywhere 
intermingled with little elegant pieces of the 
lyric kind. Select ballads in the old Scottish 
dialect, most of them of the first rate merit, 
are also interspersed among those of our an- 



* Mr. Addison, Mr. Dryden, and the witty Lord Dorset, 
Ac. See the Spectator, No. 70. To these might be added 
many eminent judges now alive. — The learned Seldea 
appears also to have been fond of collecting these old things 
See below. 

CD 



PREFACE. 



cient English Minstrels ; and the artless pro- 
ductions of these old rhapsodists are occa- 
sionally confronted with specimens of the com- 
position of contemporary poets of a higher 
class ; of those who had all the advantages 
of learning in the times in which they lived, 
and -who wrote for fame and for posterity. 
Yet perhaps the palm will be frequently due 
to the old strolling Minstrels, who composed 
their rhymes to be sung to their harps, and 
who looked no further than for present ap- 
plause, and present subsistence. 

The reader will find this class of men oc- 
casionally described in the following vo- 
lumes, and some particulars relating to their 
history in an Essay subjoined to this preface. 

It will be proper here to give a short ac- 
count of the other collections that were con- 
sulted, and to make my acknowledgments to 
those gentlemen who were so kind as to im- 
part extracts from them ; for, while this se- 
lection was making, a great number of inge- 
nious friends took a share in the work and 
explored many large repositories in its favour. 

The first of these that deserved notice was 
the Pepysian library at Magdalen College, 
Cambridge. Its founder, Sam. Pepys,* Esq., 
Secretary of the Admiralty in the reigns of 
Charles II. and James II., had made a large 
collection of ancient English ballads, near 
two thousand in number, which he has left 
pasted in five volumes in folio ; besides Gar- 
lands and other smaller miscellanies. This 
collection, he tells us, was " begun by Mr. 
Selden ; improved by the addition of many 
pieces elder thereto in time ; and the whole 
continued down to the year 1700 ; when the 
form peculiar till then thereto, viz. of the 
black letter with pictures, seems (for cheap- 
ness sake) wholly laid aside for that of the 
white letter without pictures." 

In the Ashmole Library at Oxford is a 
small collection of Ballads made by Anthony 
Wood in the year 1676, containing somewhat 
more than two hundred. Many aucient po- 
pular poems are also preserved in the Bodle- 
yan Library. 

The archives of the Antiquarian Society 
at London contain a multitude of curious 



* A Lite of our curious collector, Mr. Pepys, may tie seen 
in the " The Continuation of Mr. Collier's Supplement to 
his (Ireat Dictionary, 1715, at the end of vol. iii. folio. Art- 
PEP." 



political poems in large folio volumes, digest- 
ed under the several reigns of Henry VIII., 
Edward VI., Mary, Elizabeth, James I., &c. 

In the British Museum is preserved a largo 
treasure of ancient English poems in MS., 
besides one folio volume of printed ballads. 

From all these some of the best pieces were 
selected ; and from many private collections, 
as well printed as manuscript, particularly 
from one large folio volume which was lent 
by a lady. 

Amid such a fund of materials, the Editor 
is afraid he has been sometimes led to make 
too great a parade of his authorities. The 
desire of being accurate has perhaps seduced 
him into too minute and trifling an exactness; 
and in pursuit of information he may have 
been drawn into many a petty and frivolous 
research. It was however necessary to give 
some account of the old copies ; though often, 
for the sake of brevity, one or two of these 
only are mentioned, where yet assistance was 
received from several. Where anything was 
altered that deserved particular notice, the 
passage is generally distinguished by two 
inverted ' commas'. And the Editor has en- 
deavoured to be as faithful as the imperfect 
state of his materials would admit. For 
these old popular rhymes being many of them 
copied only from illiterate transcripts, or the 
imperfect recitation of itinerant ballad-sing- 
ers, have, as might be expected, been handed 
down to us with less care than any other 
writings in the world. And the old copies, 
whether MS. or printed, were often so de- 
fective or corrupted, that a scrupulous adhe- 
rence to their wretched readings would only 
have exhibited unintelligible nonsense, or 
such poor meagre stuff as neither came from 
the Bard nor was worthy the press ; when, 
by a few slight corrections or additions, a 
most beautiful or interesting sense hath 
started forth, and this so naturally and easily, 
that the Editor could seldom prevail on him- 
self to indulge the vanity of making a formal 
claim to the improvement ; but must plead 
guilty to the charge of concealing his own 
share in the amendments under some such 
general title as a "Modern Copy," or the like. 
Yet it has been his design to give sufficient 
intimation where any considerable liberties* 

* Such liberties have been taken with all those pieces 
which have three asterisks subjoined, thus *** 



PREFACE. 



were taken with the old copies, and to have 
retained either in the text or margin any 
word or phrase which was antique, obsolete, 
unusual, or peculiar, so that these might he 
safely quoted as of genuine and undoubted 
antiquity. His object was to please both the 
judicious antiquary and the reader of taste; 
and he hath endeavoured to gratify both with- 
out offending either. 

The plan of the work was settled in con- 
cert with the late elegant Mr. Shenstone, who 
was to have borne a joint share in it had not 
death unhappily prevented him.* Most of 
the modern pieces were of his selection and 
arrangement, and the Editor hopes to be par- 
doned if he has retained some things out of 
partiality to the judgment of his friend. 
The old folio MS. above mentioned was a pre- 
sent from Humphrey Pitt, Esq., of Prior' s-lee, 
in Shropshire,! to whom this public acknow- 
ledgment is due for that, and many other 
obliging favours. To Sir David Dalrymple, 
Bart., of Hales, near Edinburgh, the editor 
is indebted for most of the beautiful Scottish 
poems with which this little miscellany is 
enriched, and for many curious and elegant 
remarks with which they are illustrated. 
Some obliging communications of the same 
kind were received from John Mac Gowan, 
Esq., of Edinburgh ; and many curious expla- 
nations of Scottish words in the glossaries 
from John Davidson, Esq., of Edinburgh, and 
from the Rev. Mr. Hutchinson of Kimbolton. 
Mr. Warton, who has twice done so much 
honour to the Poetry Professor's chair at 
Oxford, and Mr. Hest of Worcester College, 
contributed some curious pieces from the 
Oxford libraries. Two ingenious and learn- 

* That the Editor hath not here underrated the assist- 
ance he received from his friend, will appear from Mr. 
Shenstone's own letter to the Rev. Mr. Graves, dated March 
1. 1761. See his works, vol. iii. letter ciii. It is doubtless 
a great loss to this work, that Mr. Shenstone never saw 
more than about a third of one of these volumes, as pre- 
pared fir the press. 

f Who informed the Editor that this MS. had been pur- 
chased in a library of old books, which was thought to 
have belonged to Thomas Blount, author of the "Jocular 
Tenures, 1679," 4to.. and of many other publications enu- 
merated in Wood's Athena;, ii. 73; the earliest of which is 
"The Art of Making Devises, 1646," 4to., wherein he is 
described to be " of the Inner Temple." If the collection 
was made by this lawyer (who also published the " Law 
Dictionary, 1671," folio), it should seem, from the errors 
and defects with which the MS. abounds, that he had 
employed his clerk in writing the transcripts, who was 
often weary of his task. 



ed friends at Cambridge deserve the Editor's 
warmest acknowledgments : to Mr. Blake- 
way, late fellow of Magdalen College, he owes 
all the assistance received from the Pepysian 
library : and Mr. Farmer, fellow of Emanuel, 
often exerted, in favour of this little work, 
that extensive knowledge of ancient English 
literature for which he is so distinguished.* 
Many extracts from ancient MSS. in the 
British Museum, and other repositories, were 
owing to the kind services of Thomas Astle, 
Esq. , to whom the public is indebted for the 
curious Preface and Index annexed to the 
Harleyan Catalogue.! The worthy Librarian 
of the Society of Antiquarians, Mr. Norris, 
deserves acknowledgment ' for the obliging 
manner in which he gave the Editor access 
to the volumes under his care. In Mr. Gar- 
rick's curious collection of old plays are 
many scarce pieces of ancient poetry, with 
the free use of which he indulged the Editor 
in the politest manner. To the Rev. Dr. 
Birch he is indebted for the use of several 
ancient and valuable tracts. To the friend- 
ship of Dr. Samuel Johnson he owes many 

* To the same learned and ingenious friend, since Master 
of Emanuel College, the Editor is obliged for many correc- 
tions and improvements in his second and subsequent 
editions; as also to the Rev. Mr. Bowie, of Idmistone, near 
Salisbury, Editor of the curious edition of Don Quixote, 
with Annotations, in Spanish, in six vols. 4to. ; to the Rev. 
Mr. Cole, formerly of Blecheley, near Fenny-Stratford, 
Bucks; to the Rev. Mr. Lambe, of Noreham, in North- 
umberland, author of a learned " History of Chess," 1764, 
8vo., and Editor of a curious " Poem on the Battle of Flodden 
Field," with learned Notes, 1774, 8vo.; and to G. Paton, 
Esq., of Edinburgh. He is particularly indebted to two 
friends, to whom the public, as well as himself, are under 
the greatest obligations ; to the Honourable Daines Barring- 
ton, for his very learned and curious " Observations on the 
Statutes," 4to. ; and to Thomas Tyrwhitt, Esq., whose most 
correct and elegant edition of Chaucer's " Canterbury 
Tales," 5 vols. 8vo., is a standard book, and shows how an 
ancient English classic should be published. The Editor 
was also favoured with many valuable remarks and correc- 
tions from the Rev. Geo. Ashby, late fellow of St. John's 
College, in Cambridge, which are not particularly poiuted 
out because they occur so often. He was no less obliged 
to Thomas Butler, Esq., F.A.S., agent to the Duke of North- 
umberland, and Clerk of the Peace for the county of Mid- 
dlesex; whose extensive knowledge of ancient writings, 
records, and history, has been of great use to the Editor 
in his attempts to illustrate the literature or manners of 
our ancestors. Some valuable remarks were procured by 
Samuel Pegge, Esq., author of that curious work the 
"Curialia," 4to. ; but this impression was too far advanced 
to profit by them all; which hath also been the case with 
a series of learned and ingenious annotations inserted in 
the Gentleman's Magazine for August, 1793, April, June, 
July, and October, 1794, and which, it is hoped, will he 
continued. 

+ Since Keeper of the Records in the Tower. 



PREFACE. 



valuable hints for the conduct of the work. 
And, if the Glossaries are more exact and 
curious than might be expected in so slight 
a publication, it is to be ascribed to the su- 
pervisal of a friend, who stands at this time 
the first in the world for Northern literature, 
and whose learning is better known and re- 
spected in foreign nations than in his own 
country. It is perhaps needless to name the 
Rev. Mr. Lye, Editor of Junius's Etymologi- 
cum, and of the Gothic Gospels. 

The names of so many men of learning 
and character the Editor hopes will serve as 
an amulet, to guard him from every unfa- 
vourable censure for having bestowed any 
attention on a parcel of Old Ballads. It 
was at the request of many of these gentle- 
men, and of others eminent for their genius 
and taste, that this little work was undertaken. 
To prepare it for the press has been the 



amusement of now and then a vacant hour 
amid the leisure and retirement of rural life, 
and hath only served as a relaxation from 
graver studies. It has been taken up at dif- 
ferent times, and often thrown aside for 
many months, during an interval of four or 
five years. This has occasioned some incon- 
sistencies and repetitions, which the candid 
reader will pardon. As great care has been 
taken to admit nothing immoral and indecent, 
the Editor hopes he need not be ashamed of 
having bestowed some of his idle hours on 
the ancient literature of our own country, or 
in rescuing from oblivion some pieces (though 
but the amusements of our ancestors) which 
tend to place in a striking light their taste, 
genius, sentiments, or manners. 

Except in one paragraph, and in the Notes 
subjoined, this Preface is given with little 
variation from the first edition in mdcclxv. 



(totals. 



PAGE 

1 Essay on the Ancient Minstrels in England is 

2 Notes and Illustrations .... xxiii 

SERIES THE FIRST. 



BOOK THE FIRST. 

— 1 The ancient Ballad of Chevy-Chase . 

2 The Battle of Otterbourne 
Illustration of the Names in the foregoing 

Ballads 

3 The Jew's Daughter. A Scottish Ballad 

4 Sir Cauline 

5 Edward, Edward. A Scottish Ballad 

6 King Estmere 

On the word Termagant . 

•»% 7 Sir Patrick Spence. A Scottish Ballad 
»A 8 Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne . 
9 An Elegy on Henry, Fourth Earl of North 
umberland, by Skelton . 

10 The Tower of Doctrine, by Stephen Hawes 

11 The Child of Elle .... 
■ 12 Edom (Adam) o'Gordon. A Scottish Ballad 

BOOK THE SECOND. 



(Containing Ballads that Illustrate Shalcspeare.) 

Essay on the Origin of the English Stage 93 

1 Adam Bell, Clym o' the Clough, and Wil- 

liam of Cloudesly 104 

2 The aged Lover renounceth Love . . U3 

3 Jeptbah, Judge of Israel . . . .114 

4 A Robyn, Jolly Robyn , . . . H5 

5 A Song to the Lute in Musicke . . 1'6 

6 King Cophetua and the Beggar-maid . 117 

7 Take thy old Cloak about thee . .119 

8 Willow, Willow, Willow . . . .120 

9 Sir Lancelot du Lake . . . .122 

10 Corydon's Farewell to Phillis . . .124 
The Ballad of Constant Susannah . . 124 

11 Gernutus, the Jew of Venice . . . 124 

12 The Passionate Shepherd to his Love, by 

Marlow 128 

The Nymph's Reply, by Sir W. Raleigh . 129 

13 Titus Audronicus's Complaint . . .129 

14 Tiiko those Lips away . . . .132 

15 King Leir and his Three Daughters . 132 

16 Youth and Age, by Shakspeare . . 135 

17 The Frolieksome Duke, or the Tinker's 

Good Fortune 135 

18 The Friar of Orders Gray . . .137 



BOOK THE THIRD. 

PAGE 

J-/1 The more modern Ballad of Chevy Chase 139 

Illustration of the Northern Names . . 145 

2 Death's Final Conquest, by James Shirley 145 

3 The Rising in the North . . . .146 

4 Northumberland betrayed by Douglas . 149 

5 My Mind to me a Kingdome is . . 153 

6 The Patient Countess, by W. Warner . 154 

7 Dowsabell, by Drayton .... 157 

8 The Farewell to Love, from Beaumont and 

Fletcher 159 

9 Ulysses and the Syren, by S. Daniel . 159 

10 Cupid's Pastime, by Davison . . . 160 

11 The Character of a Happy Life, by Sir H. 

Wotton 161 

12 Gilderoy. A Scottish Ballad . . .162 

13 Winifreda 163 

14 The Witch of Wokey . . . .164 

15 Bryan and Pereene. A West India Ballad, 

by Dr. Grainger 165 

16 Gentle River, Gentle River. Translated 

from the Spanish 166 

17 Alcanzar and Zayda, a Moorish Tale . 169 



SERIES THE SECOND. 

BOOK THE FIRST. 

1 Richard of Almaigne .... 171 

2 On the Death of King Edward I. . . 172 

3 An original Ballad, by Chaucer . .174 

4 The Turnament of Tottenham . . . 175 

5 For the Victory at Agincourt . . .179 
'6 The Not-browne Mayd . . . .180 

7 A Balet by the Earl Rivers . . .185 

8 Cupid's Assault. By Lord Vaux . .186 

9 Sir Aldingar 188 

10 The Gaberlunzie Man. Scottish. By King 

James V 191 

11 On Thomas Lord Cromwell . . .192 

12 Hnrpalus. An Ancient English Pastoral 194 

13 Robin and Makyne. An ancient Scottish 

Pastoral 195 

14 Gentle Herdsman, tell to me . . . 197 

15 King Edward IV. and the Tanner of Tarn- 

worth 199 

16 As ye came from the Holy Land . . 202 

17 Hardyknute. A Scottish Fragment. By 

Sir J. Bruco 203 

(5) 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



BOOK THE SECOND. 

PAGE 

1 A Ballad of Luther, the Pope, a Cardinal, 

and a Husbandman .... 209 

2 John Anderson my Jo. A Scottish Song . 211 

3 Little John Nobody 212 

4 Queen Elizabeth's Verses, while Prisoner 

at Woodstock 214 

5 The Heir of Linne 214 

6 Gascoigne's Praise of tho fair Bridges, 

afterwards Lady Sandos . . .218 

-—7 Fair Rosamond. By Thomas Delone . 220 

8 Queen Eleanor's Confession . . . 224 

9 The Sturdy Rock 226 

10 The Beggar's Daughter of Bednal Green . 226 
An Essay on the word Fit, and the Ancient 

Ballad Singing 231 

11 Fancy and Desire. By the Earl of Oxford 233 

12 Sir Andrew Barton 234 

13 Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament. A Scot- 

tish Song 239 

14 The Murder of the King of Scots . . 240 

15 A Sonnet by Queen Elizabeth . . . 241 

16 The King of Scots and And. Browne. By 

W. Elderton 242 

17 The Bonny Earl of Murray. A Scottish 

Song 244 

18 Young Waters. A Scottish Song . . 245 

19 Mary Ambree 246 

20 Brave Lord Willoughby . . . .249 

21 Victorious Men of Earth. By James Shir- 

ley 250 

22 The Winning of Cales . . . .251 

23 The Spanish Lady's Love . . . 252 

24 Argentile and Curan. By W. Warner . 254 

25 Corin's Fate 259 

26 Jane Shore 259 

27 Corydon's Doleful Knell . . . .264 

BOOK THE THIRD. 

Essay on tho Metre of Pierce Plowman's 

Visions 265 

1 The Complaint of Conscience . . . 272 

2 Plain Truth and Blind Ignorance . . 274 

3 The Wandering Jew .... 276 

4 The Lye. By Sir W. Raleigh . . .278 

5 Verses (viz. two Sonnets) by King James I. 279 

6 King John and the Abbot of Canterbury 280 

7 You Meaner Beauties. By Sir H. Wotton 283 

8 The Old and Young Courtier . . . 2S3 

9 Sir John Suckling's Campaigns . . 285 

10 To Althea from Prison. By Col. Lovelace 286 

11 The Downfall of Charing Cross . . 287 

12 Loyalty Confined. By Sir Roger L'Es- 

trange 288 

13 Verses by King Charles I. 289 

14 The Sale of Rebellious Household Stuff . 290 

15 The Baffled Knight, or Lady's Policy . 292 

16 Why so Pale? By Sir John Suckling . 294 

17 Old Tom of Bedlam. Mad Song the First 294 

18 The Distracted Puritan. Mad Song the 

Second 296 

19 The Lunatic Lover. Mad Song the Third 297 

20 The Ln.ly Distracted with Love. Mad Song 

the Fourth 298 



PAGE 

21 The Distracted Lover. Mad Song the 

Fifth 298 

22 The Frantic Lady. Mad Song the Sixth . 299 

23 Lilli-Burlero. By Lord Wharton . . 300 

24 The Braes of Yarrow. In Imitation of tho 

ancient Scottish Manner. By W. Hamil- 
ton 301 

25 Admiral Hosier's Ghost. By Mr. Glover . 303 

26 Jemmy Dawson. By Mr. Shenstone . 304 

SERIES THE THIRD. 

BOOK THE FIRST. 

Essay on the Ancient Metrical Romances 306 

1 The Boy and the Mantle . . . .320 

2 The Marriage of Sir Gawaine . . .324 

3 King Ryence's Challenge .... 32S 

4 King Arthur's Death. A Fragment . 329 

5 The Legend of King Arthur . . .332 

6 A Dyttie to Hey Downe .... 333 

7 Glasgerion 334 

8 Old Robin of Portingale . . . .335 

9 Child Waters 337 

10 Phillida and Corydon. By Nio. Breton . 340 

11 Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard . . 341 

12 The Ew-bughts Marion. A Scottish Song 343 

13 The Knight and Shepherd's Daughter . 343 

14 The Shepherd's Address to his Muse. By 

N. Breton 345 

15 Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor . . . 345 

16 Cupid and Campaspe. By John Lilye . 347 

17 Tho Lady turned Serving Man . . 347 

18 Gil (Child) Morrice. A Scottish Ballad . 349 

BOOK THE SECOND. 

1 The Legend of Sir Guy . . . .352 

2 Guy and Amarant. By Sam. Rowlands . 354 

3 The Auld Good-man. A Scottish Song . 358 

4 Fair Margaret and Sweet William . . 358 

5 Barbara Allen's Cruelty . . . .360 

6 Sweet William's Ghost. A Scottish Ballad 361 

7 Sir John Grehme and Barbara Allan. Ditto 362 

8 The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington . . 362 

9 The V, illow Tree. A Pastoral Dialogue . 363 

10 The Lady's Fall 364 

11 Waly, Waly, Love be bonny. A Scottish 

Song 366 

12 The Bride's Burial 366 

13 Dulcina 363 

14 The Lady Isabella's Tragedy . . .369 

15 A Hue and Cry after Cupid. By Ben Jon- 

son 370 

16 The King of France's Daughter . .371 

17 The Sweet Neglect. By Ben Jonson . 374 

18 The Children in the Wood . . .374 

19 A Lover of Late was I 376 

20 The King and the Miller of Mansfield . 377 

21 The Shepherd's Resolution. By G. Wither 381 

22 Queen Dido, or the Wandering Prince of 

Troy 382 

23 The Witches Song. By Ben Jonson . 384 

24 Robin Good-fellow 385 

25 The Fairy Queen 387 

26 The Fairies Farewell. By Dr. Corbet . 388 



CONTENTS. 



BOOK THE THIRD. 

1 The Birth of St. George . 

2 St. George and the Dragon 

3 Love will find out the Way 

4 Lord Thomas and Fair Annet. A Scottish 

Ballad 

- 5 Unfading Beauty. By Thomas Carew . 

6 George Barnwell 

7 The Stedfast Shepherd. By George Wither 

8 The Spanish Virgin; or the Effects-of 

Jealousy 

9 Jealousy, Tyrant of the Mind. By Dryden 
10 Constant Penelope 



PAGE 

390 

394 
397 



398 
399 
400 
404 

405 

407 
408 



11 To Lucasta, on going to the Wars. By 

Col. Lovelace 409 

12 Valentine and Ursine .... 409 

13 The Dragon of Wantley .... 414 

14 St. George for England. The First Part . 418 

15 St. George for England. The Second Part. 

By J. Grubb 420 

16 Margaret's Ghost. By David Mallet . 426 

17 Lucy and Colin. By Tho. Tickell . . 427 

18 The Boy and the Mantle, Revised, &o. . 429 

19 The ancient Fragment of the Marriage of 

Sir Gawaino 432 

20 Hermit of Warkworth . . . .435 



J|bkn&a. 



Robin Hood's Death and Burial . . . 446 

Lord Soulis 448 

The Frere and the Boye .... 454 

Kempion ....... 460 

The Demon Lover 462 

How a Merchande dyd hys Wyfe betray . 46a 

Fause Foodrage 468 

Sir Agilthorn 471 

The Life and Death of Tom Thumbe . . 475 

The Eve of St. John 481 

Frennet Hall 485 

The Lovers' Quarrel ; or, Cupid's Triumph . 487 

Katharine Janfario ..... 492 

How the Wise Man taught his Son . . 495 

Barthram's Dirge 497 

Borthwick's Decree ..... 499 
Sir Gillum of Mydeltoun . . . .502 



The Death of King Malcolme 

The Slaughter of the Bishop . 

The Outlandish Knight . 

Cochrane's Bonny Grizzy 

Young Ratcliffe .... 

The Fair Flower of Northumberland 

Syr John le Sprynge 

Lady Jean ..... 

Sir Richard Whittington's Advancement 

Life and Death of Richard the Third 

The Doleful Death of Queen Jane 

The Honour of a London Prentice 

The Story of 111 May-day . 

Johnie of Breadislee 

The Dowio Dons of Yarrow . 

Belted Will 



505 
508 
510 
512 
514 
517 
519 
520 
522 
524 
526 
527 
529 
531 
534 
536 



GLOSSARY 



543 



AN ESSAY 



ANCIENT MINSTRELS IN ENGLAND. 



1. The Minstrels (A) were an order of 
men in the middle ages, who subsisted by 
the arts of poetry and music, and sang to the 
harp verses composed by themselves or 
others.* They also appear to have accom- 
panied their songs with mimicry and action ; 
and to have practised such various means of 
diverting as were much admired in those 
rude times, and supplied the want of more 
refined entertainment. (B) These arts ren- 
dered them extremely popular and acceptable 
in this and all the neighbouring countries ; 
where no high scene of festivity was esteemed 
complete, that was not set off with the exercise 
of their talents : and where, so long as the 
spirit of chivalry subsisted, they were pro- 
tected and caressed, because their songs tend- 
ed to do honour to the ruling passion of the 
times, and to encourage and foment a martial 
spirit. 

The Minstrels seem to have been the genuine 
successors of the ancient Bards, (C) who 
under different names were admired and re- 
vered, from the earliest ages, among the 
people of Gaul, Britain, Ireland, and the 
North ; and indeed, by almost all the first in- 
habitants of Europe, whether of Celtic or 



(A) The larger Notes and Illustrations referred to by the 
capital letters (A) (B), &c., are thrown together to the end 
of tliis Kssay. 

* Wedded to no hypothesis, the Author hath readily cor- 
rected any mistakes which have been proved to be in this 
Essay ; and, considering the novelty of the subject, and the 
time, and place, when and where he first took it up, many 
such hud been excusable. That the term Minstrel was 
not confined, as pome contend, to a mere Musician, in this 
country, any more than on the Continent, will beconsiJered 
more fully iu the last note (G g) at the end of this Essny. 



Gothic race ;* but by none more than by our 
own Teutonic ancestors,! paficularly by all 
the Danish tribes. J Among these, they were 
distinguished by the name of Scalds, a word 
which denotes " smoothers and polishers of 
language."^ The origin of their art was at- 
tributed to Odin or Woden, the father of 
their gods ; and the professors of it were held 
in the highest estimation. Their skill was 
considered as something divine; their persons 
were deemed sacred ; their attendance was 
solicited by kings; and they were everywhere 
loaded with honours and rewards. In short, 
Poets and their art were held among them in 
that rude admiration which is ever shown by 
an ignorant people to such as excel them in 
intellectual accomplishments. 

As these honours were paid to Poetry and 
Song, from the earliest times, in those coun- 
tries which our Anglo-Saxon ancestors inha- 
bited before their removal into Britain, we 
may reasonably conclude, that they would 
not lay aside all their regard for men of this 
sort immediately on quitting their German 
forests. At least so long as they retained 
their ancient manners and opinions, they 
would still hold them in high estimation. 
But as the Saxons, soon after their establish- 



* Vid. Pelloutier Hist, des Celtes, torn. 1, 1. 2, c. 6, 10. 

f Tacit, de Mor. Germ. cap. 2. 

% Vid. Bartholin, de Causi.s contemptic a Danis Mortis, 
lib. 1, cap. 10. — Wormij Literatura Runic, ad finem. — See 
also " Northern Antiquities, or, a Description of the Man- 
ners, Customs, kit., of the ancient Danes, and other Northern 
Nations : from the French of M. Mallet." London, printed 
for T. Carnan, 1770, 2 vols. Svo. 

gTnrfari I'rocfat. ad Oread. Hist— Pref. to "Five Pieces 
of Runic Poetry," 4c. 

(9) 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



ment in this island, were converted to Chris- 
tianity ; in proportion as literature prevailed 
among them, this rude admiration would 
begin to abate, and poetry would be no longer 
a peculiar profession. Thus the Poet and 
the Minstrel early with us became two per- 
sons. (D) Poetry was cultivated by men of 
letters indiscriminately ; and many of the 
most popular rhymes were composed amidst 
the leisure and retirement of monasteries. 
But the Minstrels continued a distinct order 
of men for many ages after the Norman con- 
quest; and got their livelihood by singing ver- 
ses to the harp at the houses of the great. (E) 
There they were still hospitably and re- 
spectfully received, and retained many of 
the honours shown to their predecessors, the 
Bards and Scalds. (F) And though, as their 
art declined, many of them only recited the 
compositions of others, some of them still 
composed songs themselves, and all of them 
could probably invent a few stanzas on occa- 
sion. I have no doubt but most of the old 
heroic Ballads in this collection were com- 
posed by this order of men. For although 
some of the larger metrical romances might 
come from the pen of the monks or others, 
yet the smaller narratives were probably com- 
posed by the minstrels who sang them. 
From the amazing variations which occur in 
different copies of the old pieces, it is evident 
they made no scruple to alter each other's 
productions; and the reciter added or omitted 
whole stanzas, according to his own fancy or 
convenience. 

In the early ages, as was hinted above, the 
profession of oral itinerant Poet was held in 
the utmost reverence among all the Danish 
tribes ; and, therefore, we might have con- 
cluded, that it was not unknown or unre- 
spected among their Saxon brethren in Bri- 
tain, even if history had been altogether silent 
on this subject. The original country of our 
Anglo-Saxon ancestors is well known to have 
lien chiefly in the Cimbric Chersonese, in the 
tracts of land since distinguished by the 
name of Jutland, Angelen, and Holstein.* 
The Jutes and Angles in particular, who com- 
posed two-thirds of the conquerors of Britain, 



* Vid. Chronic. Saxon, a Gibson, p. 12, 13, 4to.— Bed. 
Hist. Ecdes. a. Smith, lib. 1, c. 15. — " Ealdsexe [Regio antiq. 
Saxonum] in crevice Cimbrirae Chersonesi, Holsatiam pro- 
prie dictam Dithmarsiam, Stormariam, et Wagriam, com- 
plectens." Annot. in Bed. & Smith, p. 52. Et vid. Camdeni 
Britan. 



were a Danish people, and their country at 
this day belongs to the crown of Denmark ;* so 
that when the Danes again infested England, 
three or four hundred years after, they made 
war on the descendants of their own ances- 
tors.! From this near affinity, we might 
expect to discover a strong resemblance be- 
tween both nations in their customs, man- 
ners, and even language : and, in fact, we 
find them to differ no more than would natu- 
rally happen between a parent country and 
its own colonies, that had been severed in a 
rude uncivilized state, and had dropt all in- 
tercourse for three or four centuries : especi- 
ally if we reflect that the colony here settled 
had adopted a new religion, extremely oppo- 
site in all respects to the ancient Paganism 
of the mother country ; and that even at first, 
along with the original Angli, had been in- 
corporated a large mixture of Saxons from 
the neighbouring parts of Germany ; and 
afterwards, among the Danish invaders, had 
come vast multitudes of adventurers from the 
more northern parts of Scandinavia. But all 
these were only different tribes of the same 
common Teutonic stock, and spoke only dif- 
ferent dialects of the same Gothic language. J 
From this sameness of original and simi- 
larity of manners, we might justly have won- 
dered, if a character, so dignified and dis- 
tinguished among the ancient Danes, as the 
Scald or Bard, had been totally unknown or 
unregarded in this sister nation. And, in- 
deed, this argument is so strong, and, at the 
same time, the early annals of the Anglo- 
Saxons are so scanty and defective, (G) that 
no objections from their silence could be suf- 
ficient to overthrow it. For if these popular 
Bards were confessedly revered and admired 
in those very countries which the Anglo- 
Saxons inhabited before their removal into 
Britain, and if they were afterwards common 
and numerous among the other descendants 
of the same Teutonic ancestors, can we do 
otherwise than conclude, that men of this 
order accompanied such tribes as migrated 
hither ; that they afterwards subsisted here, 
though, perhaps, with less splendour than in 
the North; and that there never was wanting 

* " Anglia Vestus. hodie etiam Anglen, sita est inter 
Saxones et Giot.es [Jutos], habeus oppidum capitale . . . 
Sleswick." Ethelwerd. lib. 1. 

f See Northern Antiquities, Ac, vol. i. pag. 7, 8, 185, 250, 
260, 261. 

I Ibid. Preface, p. 26. 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



a succession of them to hand down the art, 
though some particular conjunctures may 
have rendered it more respectable at one time 
than another ? And this was evidently the 
case. For though much greater honours 
seem to have been heaped upon the northern 
Scalds, in whom the characters of historian. 
genealogist, poet, and musician, were all 
united, than appear to have been paid to the 
Minstrels and Harpers (II) of the Anglo- 
Saxons, whose talents were chiefly calculated 
to entertain and divert ; while the Scalds pro- 
fessed to inform and instruct, and were at 
once the moralists and theologues of their 
Pagan countrymen ; yet the Anglo-Saxon 
Minstrels continued to possess no small por- 
tion of public favour ; and the arts they pro- 
fessed were so extremely acceptable to our 
ancestors, that the word glee, which peculi- 
arly denoted their art, continues still in our 
own language to be of all others the most 
expressive of that popular mirth and jollity, 
that strong sensation of delight, which is felt 
by unpolished and simple minds. (I) 

II. Having premised these general consi- 
derations, I shall now proceed to collect from 
history such particular incidents as occur on 
this subject; and, whether the facts them- 
selves are true or not, they are related by 
authors who lived too near the Saxon times, 
and had before them too many recent monu- 
ments of the Anglo-Saxon nation, not to 
know what was conformable to the genius 
and manners of that people ; and therefore 
we may presume, that their relations prove 
at least the existence of the customs and 
habits they attribute to our forefathers before 
the conquest, whatever becomes of the par- 
ticular incidents and events themselves. If 
this be admitted, we shall not want sufficient 
proofs to show that Minstrelsy and Song 
were not extinct among the Anglo-Saxons ; 
and that the professor of them here, if not 
quite so respectable a personage as the Dan- 
ish Scald, was yet highly favoured and pro- 
tected, and continued still to enjoy consider- 
able privileges. 

Even so early as the first invasion of Bri- 
tain by the Saxons, an incident is recorded 
to have happened, which, if true, shows that 
the Minstrel or Bard was not unknown 
anion;; this people; and that their princes 
themselves could, upon occasion, assume that 



character. Colgrin, son of that Ella who was 
elected king or leader of the Saxons in the 
room of Hengist,* was shut up in York, and 
closely besieged by Arthur and his Britons. 
Baldulph, brother of Colgrin, wanted to gain 
access to him, and to apprise him of a rein- 
forcement which was coming from Germany. 
He had no other way to accomplish his de- 
sign, but to assume the character of a Min- 
strel. He therefore shaved his head and 
beard, and, dressing himself in the habit of 
that profession, took his harp in his hand. 
In this disguise, he walked up and down 
the trenches without suspicion, playing all 
the while upon his instrument as a Harper. 
By little and little he advanced near to the 
walls of the city, and, making himself known 
to the sentinels, was in the night drawn up 
by a rope. 

Although the above fact comes only from 
the suspicious pen of Geoffry of Mon- 
mouth, (K) the judicious reader will not too 
hastily reject it ; because, if such a fact- 
really happened, it could only be known to 
us through the medium of the British writers: 
for the first Saxons, a martial but unlettered 
people, had no historians of their own ; and 
Geoffry, with all his fables, is allowed to have 
recorded many true events, that have escaped 
other annalists. 

We do not, however, want instances of a 
less fabulous era, and more indubitable au- 
thority: for later history affords us two re- 
markable facts,(L) which I think clearly show 
that the same arts of poetry and song, which 
were so much admired among the Danes, were 
b} r no means unknown or neglected in this 
sister nation: and that the privileges and 
honours which were so lavishly bestowed upon 
the Northern Scalds, were not wholly with- 
held from the Anglo-Saxon Minstrels. 

Our great King Alfred, who is expressly 
said to have excelled in music, f being desirous 
to learn the true situation of the Danish army, 
which had invaded his realm, assumed the 
dress and character of a Minstrel ; (M) when, 
taking his harp, and one of the most trusty 
of his friends, disguised as a servant! (for in 
the early times it was not unusual for a min- 
strel to have a servant to carry his harp), he 
went with the utmost security into the Danish 

* See Rapin's Hist, by Tindal, fol. 1732, vol. i. p. 36, who 
places the incident here related under the year 495. 
f By Bale and Spelman. See note (M). f Ibid - 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



camp ; and, though he could not but be known 
to be a Saxon by his dialect, the character he 
had assumed procured him a hospitable re- 
ception. He was admitted to entertain the 
king at table, and stayed among them long 
enough to contrive that assault which after- 
wards destroyed them. This was in the year 
878. 

About sixty years after,* a Danish king 
made use of the same disguise to explore the 
camp of our King Athelstan. With his harp 
in his hand, and dressed like a minstrel, (N) 
Aulaff.f king of the Danes, went among the 
Saxon tents ; and, taking his stand near the 
king's pavilion, began to play, and was im- 
mediately admitted. There he entertained 
Athelstan and his lords with his singing and 
his music, and was at length dismissed with 
an honourable reward, though his songs must 
have discovered him to have been a Dane. (0) 
Athelstan was saved from the consequences of 
this stratagem by a soldier, who had observed 
Aulaff bury the money which had been given 
him, either from some scruple of honour, or 
motive of superstition. This occasioned a 
discovery. 

Now if the Saxons had not been accus- 
tomed to have minstrels of their own, Alfred's 
assuming so new and unusual a character 
would have excited suspicions among the 
Danes. On the other hand, if 4t had not 
been customary with the Saxons to show 
favour and respect to the Danish Scalds, 
Aulaff would not have ventured himself 
among them, especially on the eve of a bat- 
tle. (P) From the uniform procedure then 
of both these kings, we may fairly conclude 
that the same mode of entertainment pre- 
vailed among both people, and that the min- 
strel was a privileged character with each. 

But, if these facts had never existed, it can 
be proved from undoubted records, that the 
minstrel was a regular and stated officer in 
the court of our Anglo-Saxon kings : for in 
Doomesday Book, Joculalor Regis, the King's 
Minstrel, is expressly mentioned in Glouces- 
tershire ; in which county it should seem that 

* Anno 938. Vid. Rapin, &c. 

f So I think the name should he printed, rather than 
Anlaff the more usual form (the same traces of the letters 
express both names in MS.), Aulaff being evidently the 
genuine modern name Olaff, or Olave. Lat. Olaus. In the 
old romance of " Horn-Childe" (see vol. iii. p. xxxiii.), the 
name of the king his father is Allof, which is evidently 
Ollaf, with the vowels only transposed. 



he had lands assigned him for his mainten- 
ance. (Q) 

III. We have now brought the inquiry 
down to the Norman Conquest ; and as the 
Normans had been a late colony from Norway 
and Denmark, where the Scalds had arrived 
to the highest pitch of credit before Hollo's 
expedition into France, we cannot doubt but 
this adventurer, like the other northern 
princes, had many of these men in his train, 
who settled with him in his new duchy of 
Normandy, and left behind them successors 
in their art: so that, when his descendant, 
William the Bastard, invaded this kingdom 
in the following century,* that mode of enter- 
tainment could not but be still familiar with 
the Normans. And that this is not mere 
conjecture will appear from a remarkable 
fact, which shows that the arts of poetry and 
song were still as reputable among the Nor- 
mans in France, as they had been among 
their ancestors in the North ; and that the 
profession of Minstrel, like that of Scald, 
was still aspired to by the most gallant sol- 
diers. In William's army was a valiant war- 
rior, named Taillefer, who was distinguished 
no less for the minstrel arts.(R) than for his 
courage and intrepidity. This man asked 
leave of his commander to begin the onset, 
and obtained it. He accordingly advanced 
before the army, and with a loud voice ani- 
mated his countrymen with songs in praise 
of Charlemagne and Roland, and other heroes 
of France; then rushing among the thickest 
of the English, and valiantly fighting, lost 
his life. 

Indeed the Normans were so early distin- 
guished for their minstrel talents, that an 
eminent French writer (S) makes no scruple 
to refer to them the origin of all modern 
poetry, and shows that they were celebrated 
for their songs near a century before the 
Troubadours of Provence, who are supposed 
to have led the way to the poets of Italy, 
France, and Spain. f 

We see then that the Norman conquest 
was rather likely to favour the establishment 
of the minstrel profession in this kingdom, 

* Rollo was invested in his new duchy of Normandy 
A.D. 912. William invaded England. A.D. 1066. 

t Vid. •' Hist, des Troubadours. 3 torn." passim ; et vid. 
'• Fableaux on Oontes du XII. et du XIII. Siecle, traduits, 
4c, avec des Notes historiques et critiques, &c, par M. Le 
Grand. Paris, 1781," 5 torn. 12mo. 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



than to suppress it ; and although the favour 
of the Norman conquerors would be probably 
confined to such of their own countrymen as 
excelled in the minstrel arts ; and in the first 
ages after the conquest no other songs would 
be listened to by the great nobility, but such 
as were composed in their own Norman 
French : yet as the great mass of the original 
inhabitants were not extirpated, these could 
only understand their own native gleemen or 
minstrels ; who must still be allowed to exist, 
unless it can be proved that they were all 
proscribed and massacred, as it is said the 
Welsh bards were afterwards by the severe 
policy of King Edward I. But this we know 
was not the case ; and even the cruel attempts 
of that monarch, as we shall see below, proved 
ineffectual. (S 2) 

The honours shown to the Norman or 
French minstrels, by our princes and great 
barons, would naturally have been imitated 
by their English vassals and tenants, even 
if no favour or distinction had ever been 
hown here to the same order of men in the 
Anglo-Saxon and Danish reigns. So that we 
cannot doubt but the English harper and 
songster would, at least in a subordinate de- 
gree, enjoy the same kind of honours, and be 
received with similar respect among the infe- 
rior English gentry and populace. I must be 
allowed therefore to consider them as belong- 
ing to the same community, as subordinate 
members at least of the same college ; and 
therefore, in gleaning the scanty materials for 
this slight history, I shall collect whatever 
incidents I can find relating to minstrels and 
their art, and arrange them, as they occur in 
our own annals, without distinction ; as it 
will not always be easy to ascertain, from the 
slight mention of them by our regular histo- 
rians, whether the artists were Norman or 
English. For it need not be remarked that 
subjects of this trivial nature are but inci- 
dentally mentioned by our ancient annalists, 
and were fastidiously rejected by other grave 
and serious writers ; so that, unless they were 
accidentally connected with such events as 
became recorded in history, they would pass 
unnoticed through the lapse of ages, and be 
as unknown to posterity as other topics re- 
lating to the private life and amusements of 
the greatest nations. 

On this account it can hardly be expected 
that we should be able to produce regular and 



unbroken annals of the minstrel art and its 
professors, or have sufficient information 
whether every minstrel or harper composed 
himself, or only repeated, the songs he 
chanted. Some probably did the one, and 
some the other: and it would have been won- 
derful indeed if men whose peculiar profes- 
sion it was, and who devoted their time and 
talents to entertain their hearers with poetical 
compositions, were peculiarly deprived of all 
poetical genius themselves, and had been 
under a physical incapacity of composing 
those common popular rhymes which were the 
usual subjects of their recitation. Whoever 
examines any considerable quantity of these, 
finds them in style and colouring as different 
from the elaborate production of the seden- 
tary composer at his desk or in his cell, as 
the rambling harper or minstrel was remote 
in his modes of life and habits of thinking 
from the retired scholar or the solitary 
monk. (T) 

It is well known that on the Continent, 
whence our Norman nobles came, the Bard 
who composed, the Harper who played and 
sang, and even the Dancer and the Mimic, 
were all considered as of one community, and 
were even all included under the common 
name of Minstrels.* I must therefore be 
allowed the same application of the term 
here, without being expected to prove that 
every singer composed, or every composer 
chanted, his own song ; much less that every 
one excelled in all the arts which were occa- 
sionally exercised by some or other of this 
fraternity. 

IV. After the Norman Conquest, the first 
occurrence which I have met with relating 
to this order of men is the founding of a 
priory and hospital by one of them : scil. the 
Priory and Hospital of St. Bartholomew, in 
Smithfield, London, by Royer or Raherus the 
King's Minstrel, in the third year of King 
Henry I., A. D. 1102. He was the first prior 
of his own establishment, and presided over 
it to the time of his death. (T 2) 

In the reign of King Henry II., we have 
upon record the name of Galfrid or Jeffrey, 
a harper, who in 1180 received a corrody or 
annuity from the abbey of Hide^ear Win- 
chester ; and, as in the early times every 



* See note (B) and (A a). 



XIV 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



harper was expected to sing, we cannot doubt 
but this reward was given to him for his 
music and his songs ; which, if they were for 
the solace of the monks there, we may con- 
clude would be in the English language. (U) 

Under his romantic son, King Richard I., 
the Minstrel profession seems to have ac- 
quired additional splendour. Richard, who 
was the great hero of chivalry, was also the 
distinguished patron of Poets and Minstrels. 
He was himself of their number, and some 
of his poems are still extant.* They were 
no less patronized by his favourites and chief 
officers. His Chancellor, William Bishop of 
Ely, is expressly mentioned to have invited 
Singers and Minstrels from France, whom he 
loaded with reward ; and they in return cele- 
brated him as the most accomplished person 
in the world. (U 2) This high distinction and 
regard, although confined perhaps in the first 
instance to Poets and Songsters of the French 
nation, must have had a tendency to do honour 
to poetry and song among all his subjects, 
and to encourage the cultivation of these 
arts among the natives ; as the indulgent 
favour shown by the monarch, or his great 
courtiers, to the Provenc/al Troubadour, or 
Norman Bymour, would naturally be imitated 
by their inferior vassals to the English Glee- 
man or Minstrel. At more than a century 
after the conquest, the national distinctions 
must have begun to decline, and both the 
Norman and English languages would be 
heard in the houses of the great ;(U3) so 
that probably about this sera, or soon after, 
we are to date that remarkable intercommu- 
nity and exchange of each other's composi- 
tions, which we discover to have taken place 
at some early period between the French and 
English Minstrels ; the same set of phrases, 
the same species of characters, incidents, and 
adventures, and often the same identical 
stories, being found in the old metrical ro- 
mances of both nations. (V) 

The distinguished service which Richard 
received from one of his own minstrels, in 
rescuing him from his cruel and tedious cap- 
tivity, is a remarkable fact, which ought to 



* See a pathetic song of his in Mr. Walpole's Catalogue 
of Royal Authors, vol. i. p. 5. The reader will find a trans- 
lation of it into modern French, in Hist. Literaire des Trou- 
hadours, 1774, 3 torn. 12mo. See vol. i. p. 58, where some 
more of Richard's poetry is translated. In Dr. Burney's 
Hist, of Music, vol. ii. p. 238, is a poetical version of it in 
English. 



be recorded for the honour of poets and their 
art. This fact I shall relate in the following 
words of an ancient writer:* 

" The Englishmen were more than a whole 
yeare without hearing any tydings of their 
king, or in what place he was kept prisoner. 
He had trained up in his court a Rimer or 
Minstrill,f called Blondell de Nesle: who (so 
saith the manuscript of old Poesies,J and an 
auncient manuscript French Chronicle) being 
so long without the sight of his lord, his life 
seemed wearisome to him, and he became 
confounded with melancholly. Knowne it 
was, that he came backe from the Holy Land ; 
but none could tell in what countrey he ar- 
rived. Whereupon this Blondel, resolving to 
make search for him in many countries, but 
he would heare some newes of him ; after 
expence of divers dayes in travaile, he came 
to a towne$ (by good hap) neere to the castell 
where his maister King Richard was kept. 
Of his host he demanded to whom the castell 
appertained, and the host told him that it 
belonged to the Duke of Austria. Then he 
enquired whether there were any prisoners 
therein detained or no : for alwayes he made 
such secret questionings wheresoever he came. 
And the hoste gave answer, there was one 
onely prisoner, but he knew not what he 
was, and yet he had bin detained there more 
than the space of a yeare. When Blondel 
heard this, he wrought such meanes, that he 



* Mons. Favine's Theatre of Honour and Knighthood, 
translated from the French. Lond. 1623, fol. torn. ii. p. 49. 
An elegant relation of the same event (from the French of 
Presid. Fauchet's Rocueil, &c.) may he seen in " Miscella- 
nies in prose and verse, hy Anna Williams. Lond. 1766," 
4to. p. 46. — It will excite the reader's admiration to he 
informed, that most of the pieces of that collection were 
composed under the disadvantage of a total deprivation of 
sight. 

t Favine's words are, <; Jongleur appelle Blondiaux de 
Nesle." Paris, 1620, 4to., p. 1106. But Fauchet, who has 
given the same story, thus expresses it, " Or ce roy ayant 
nourri un Menestrel appelle Blondel," &c, liv. 2, p. 92. 
"Des anciens Poetes Francois," — He is however said to 
have been another Blondel, not Blondel (or Blondiaux) de 
Nesle ; hut this no way affects the circumstances of the 
story. 

I This the Author calls in another place, " An ancient 
MS. of old Poesies, written about those very times." — 
From this MS. Favine gives a good account of the taking 
of Richard by the Duke of Austria, who sold him to the 
Emperor. As for the MS. chronicle, it is evidently the 
same that supplied Fauchet with this story. See his 
"Recueil de l'Origine de la Langue et Poesie Framboise, 
Ryme, et Romans," &c, Par. 1581. 

(S Tribables. — '-Retrudi eum prreeepit in Triballis: a quo 
carcere nullus ante dies istos exivit." Lat. Chron. of Otho 
of Austria: apud Favin. 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



became .acquainted with them of the castell, 
as Minstrels doe easily win acquaintance any 
where :* but see the king he could not, neither 
understand that it was he. One day he sat 
directly before a window of the castell where 
King Richard was kept prisoner, and began 
to sing a song in French, which King Richard 
and Blondel had some time composed to- 
gether. When King Richard heard the song, 
he knew it was Blondel that sung it: and 
when Blondel paused at halfe of the song, 
the king ' began the other half and completed 
it.'f Thus Blondel won knowledge of the 
king his maister, and returning home into 
England, made the barons of the countrie 
acquainted where the king was." This hap- 
pened about the year 1193. 

The following old Provencal lines are given 
as the very original song ; J which I shall ac- 
company with an imitation offered by Dr. 
Burney, ii. 237. 



Domna vostra beutas 
Elas bellas faissos 
Els bels oils amoros 
Els gens cors ben taillate 
Don sieu empreseuats 
De vostra auio qui mi lia. 



Your beauty, lady fair, 
None views without delight ; 
But still so cold an air 
No passion can excite : 
Yet this I patient see 
While all are shmi'd like me. 



RICHARD. 



Si bel trop affansia 
Ja de vos non portrai 
Que major honorai 
Sol en votra deman 
Que sautra des beisan 
Tot can de vos volria 



No nymph my heart can wound 
Jf favour she divide 
And smiles on all around 
Unwilling to decide: 
rd rather hatred bear 
Titan love with ol/iers share. 



The access which Blondel so readily ob- 
tained in the privileged character of a min- 
strel, is not the only instance upon record of 
the same nature.(V 2) In this very reign of 
King Richard I. the young heiress of D'Eve- 
reux, Earl of Salisbury, had been carried 

* '• Comme Menestrels s'accointeut legerement." Favine. 
Fauchet expresses it in tbe same manner. 

f I give tbis passage corrected ; as the English translator 
of Favine's book appeared here to have mistaken the ori- 
ginal : Scil. " Et quant Blondel eut dit la moitie de la 
Chanson, le roy Richard se prist a dire l'autre moitie et 
l'acheva." Favine, p. 1106. Fauchet has also expressed it 
in nearly the same words. Recueil, p. 93. 

X In a little romance or novel, entitled, " La Tour Tene- 
breuses, et les Jours Lumineux, Contes Angloises, accom- 
pngnez d'historiettes, et tirez d'une ancienne chronique 
compopee par Richard, surnomme Coeur de Lion, Roy 
d'Angleterre," Ac. PariM 1705, 12mo. — In the Preface to 
this romance the Editor has given another song of Blondel 
de Ncsle. as also a copy of the song written by King Richard, 
and published by Mr. Walpole, mentioned above, yet the 
two last are not in Provencal like the sonnet printed here ; 
but in the old French, called Language Roman. 



abroad and secreted by her French relations 
in Normandy. To discover the place of her 
concealment, a knight of the Talbot family 
spent two years in exploring that province, 
at first under the disguise of a pilgrim ; till 
having found where she was confined, in 
order to gain admittance he assumed the 
dress and character of a harper, and being a 
jocose person exceedingly skilled in the 
"gests of the ancients ;"* so they called the 
romances and stories which were the delight 
of that age ; he was gladly received into the 
family. Whence he took an opportunity to 
carry off the young lady, whom he presented 
to the king ; and he bestowed her on his na- 
tural brother William Longespee (son of fair 
Rosamond), who became in her right Earl of 
Salisbury. (V 3) 

The next memorable event which I find in 
history reflects credit on the English Min- 
strels : and this was their contributing to the 
rescue of one of the great Earls of Chester 
when besieged by the Welsh. This happened 
in the reign of King John, and is related to 
this effect. 

" Hugh, the first Earl of Chester, in his 
charter of foundation of St. Werburg's Abbey 
in that city, had granted such a privilege to 
those who should come to Chester fair, that 
they should not then be apprehended for theft 
or any other misdemeanour, except the crime 
were committed during the fair. This special 
protection occasioning a multitude of loose 
people to resort to that fair, was afterwards 
of signal benefit to one of his successors. For 
Ranulph, the last Earl of Chester, marching 
into Wales with a slender attendance, was 
constrained to retire to his castle of Rothelan, 
(or Rhuydland) to which the Welsh forthwith 
laid siege. In this distress he sent ior help 
to the Lord de Lacy, constable of Chester: 
"Who, making use of the Minstrells of all 
sorts, then met at Chester fair : by the allure- 
ment of their musick, got together a vast 
number of such loose people as, by reason of 
the before specified priviledge, were fV en in 
that city ; whom he forthwith sent under the 



* The words of the original, viz., " Citbarisator homo 
jocosus in Gestis antiquorum valde peritus," I conceive to 
give the precise idea of the ancient Minstrel. See note 
(V 2). That Gesta was appropriated to romantic stories, 
see note (I) Part IV (1). 

t See Dugdale, Bar. i. 42, 101, who places it after 13 John, 
A. D. 1212. See also Plot's Staffordsh. Camden's Britann. 
(Cheshire.) 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



conduct of Dutton (his steward), a gallant 
youth, who was also his son-in-law. The 
Welsh, alarmed at the approach of this rabble, 
supposing them to be a regular body of 
armed and disciplined veterans, instantly 
raised the siege and retired." 

For this good service, Ranulph is said to 
have granted to De Lacy, by charter, the pa- 
tronage and authority over the Minstrels and 
the loose and inferior people: who, retaining 
to himself that of the lower artificers, con- 
ferred on Dutton the jurisdiction of the Min- 
strels and Harlots ;* and under the descend- 
ants of this family the Minstrels enjoyed 
certain privileges, and protection for many 
ages. For even so late as the reign of Eliza- 
beth, when this profession had fallen into 
such discredit that it was considered in law as 
a nuisance, the Minstrels under the jurisdic- 
tion of the family of Dutton, are expressly 
excepted out of all acts of parliament made 
for their suppression ; and have continued to 
be so excepted ever since. (W) 

The ceremonies attending the exercise of 
this jurisdiction are thus described by Dug- 
dale,! as handed down to his time, viz. : 
" That at midsummer fair there, all the Min- 
strels of that country resorting to Chester do 
attend the heir of Dutton, from his lodging 
to St. John's Church (he being then accom- 
panied by many gentlemen of the countrey), 
one of ' the Minstrels' walking before him in 
a surcoat of his arms depicted on taffata ; the 
rest of his fellows proceeding (two and two) 
and playing on their several sorts of musical 
instruments. And after divine service ndede, 
give the like attendance on him back to his 
lodging; where a court being kept by his 
[Mr. Dutton's] steward, and all the Minstrels 
formally called, certain orders and laws are 
usually made for the better government of 
that society, with penalties on those who 
transgress." 

In the same reign of King John we have a 
remarkable instance of a Minstrel, who to 
his other talents superadded the character 
of soothsayer, and by his skill in drugs and 
medicated potions was able to rescue a knight 
from imprisonment. This occurs in Leland's 
Narrative of the Gestes of Guarine (or War- 
ren) and his sons, which he " excerptid owte 



* See the ancient record in Blount's Law Dictionary (Art. 
Minstrel). 

Bar. i. p. 101. 



of an old Englisch boke yn ryme,"* and is 
as follows : 

Whitington Castle in Shropshire, which 
together with the coheiress of the original 
proprietor had been won in a solemn turna- 
ment by the ancestor of the Guarines.f had 
in the reign of King John been seized by the 
Prince of Wales, and was afterwards pos- 
sessed by Moriee, a retainer of that prince, 
to whom the kin;;, out of hatred to the true 
heir Fulco Guarine (with whom he had for- 
merly had a quarrel at chess), % not only con- 
firmed the possession, but also made him 
governor of the marches, of which Fulco 
himself had the custody in the time of King 
Richard. The Guarines demanded justice 
of the king, but obtaining no gracious an- 
swer, renounced their allegiance and fled into 
Bretagne. Returning into England after 
various conflicts, " Fulco resortid to one John 
of Raumpayne, a Sothsayer and Jocular and 
Minstrelle, and made hym his spy to Moriee 
at Whitington." The privileges of this cha- 
racter we have already seen, and John so 
well availed himself of them, that in conse- 
quence of the intelligence which he doubtless 
procured, " Fulco and his brethrene laide 
waite for Moriee, as he went toward Sales- 
byri, and Fulco ther woundid hym : and 
Bracy," a knight who was their friend and 
assistant, " cut of Morice['s] hedde." This 
Sir Bracy being in a subsequent rencounter 
sore wounded, was taken and brought to 
King John : from whose vengeance he was 
however rescued by this notable Minstrel ; 
for " John Rampayne founde the meanes to 
cast them, that kepte Bracy, into a deadely 
slepe ; and so he and Bracy cam to Fulco to 
Whitington," which on the death of Moriee 
had been restored to him by the Prince of 
Wales. As no further mention occurs of the 
Minstrel, I might here conclude this narra- 
tive ; but I shall just add that Fulco was 



* Leland's Collectanea, vol. i. pages 261, 266. 267. 

t This old feudal custom of marrying an heiress to the 
knight who should vanqui.-h all his opponents in solemn 
contest, Ac, appears to be burlesqued in the Turnamcnt 
of Totenham, as is well observed by the learned author ol 
Remarks. &c, in Gent. Mag. for July, 1794, p. 613. 

I " John, sun to King Henry, and Fulco felle at variance 
at Chestes [r. ChesseJ; and John brake Fulco f's] hed with 
the chest borde; and then Fulco gave him such a blow, that 
he had almost killid hym." (Lei. Coll. i. p. 264.) A curious 
picture of courtly manners in that age! Notwithstanding 
this fray, we read in the next pnragraph, that " King Henry 
dubbid Fulco and 3 of his bretherne Knightes at Win- 
chester." Ibid. 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



obliged to flee into France, where, assuming 
the name of Sir Amice, he distinguished him- 
self in justs and tournaments ; and, after va- 
rious romantic adventures by sea and land ; 
having in the true style of chivalry rescued 
" certayne ladies owt of prison ;" he finally 
obtained the king's pardon, and the quiet 
possession of Whitington Castle. 

In the reign of King Henry III., we have 
mention of Master Ricard the King's Harper, 
to whom in his thirty-sixth year (1252) that 
monarch gave not only forty shillings and a 
pipe of wine, but also a pipe of wine to Bea- 
trice, his wife.* The title of Magister, or Mas- 
ter, given to this Minstrel deserves notice, 
and shows his respectable situation. 

V. The Harper, or Minstrel, was so neces- 
sary an attendant on a royal personage, that 
Prince Edward (afterwards King Edward I.), 
in his crusade to the Holy Land, in 1271, was 
not without his Harper : who must have 
been officially very near his person ; as we 
are told by a contemporary historian,! that, 
in the attempt to assassinate that heroic 
prince, when he had wrested the poisoned 
knife out of the Sarazen's hand, and killed 
him with his own weapon ; the attendants, 
who had stood apart while he was whisper- 
ing to their master, hearing the struggle, ran 
to his assistance, and one of them, to wit his 
Harper, seizing a tripod or trestle, struck the 
assassin on the head and beat out his brains. J 
And though the prince blamed him for strik- 
ing the man after he was dead, yet his near 
access shows the respectable situation of this 
officer ; and his affectionate zeal should have 
induced Edward to entreat his brethren the 
Welsh Bards afterwards with more lenity. 

Whatever was the extent of this great 



* Burner's Hist. ii. p. 355.— Rot. Pip. An. 36 H. III. 
"Et in uno dolio vini empto & dato Magistro Iliardo 
Citharistas Regis, xl. sol. per. br. Reg. F.t in uno dolin 
empto & dato Beatrici uxori ejusdem Ricardi." 

t Walter Hemmingford (vixit temp. Edw. I.), in Chronic, 
cap. 35, inter V. Hist. Ang. Scriptores, vol. ii. Oxou. 16S7, 
fol. pag. 591. 

X " Accurrentes ad ha?c Ministri ejus, qui a longe steterunt, 
invenerunt eum [scil. Nuntium| in terra inortuum. et 
upprehendit unuseorum tripodem, scilicet Citlmreda ttuus, 
k pcreussiteum in capite,etefTunri it cerebrum ejus. Jncre- 
pavitque eum Edwardus quod liominem niortuum percus- 
sisset." Tbid. These Minis-tri must have been upon a 
very confidential footing, as it appears alwive in the same 
chapter, that they had been made acquainted with the 
contents of the letters which the assassin had delivered to 
the prince from his master. 

3 



monarch's severity towards the professors of 
music and of song in Wales ; whether the 
executing by martial law such of them as 
fell into his hands was only during the heat 
of conflict, or was continued afterwards with 
more systematic rigour ;* yet in his own 
court the Minstrels appear to have been 
highly favoured: for when, in 1306, he con- 
ferred the order of knighthood on his son and 
many others of the young nobility, a multi- 
tude of Minstrels were introduced to invite 
and induce the new knights to make some 
military vow.(X) And 

Under the succeeding reign of King Ed- 
ward II., such extensive privileges were 
claimed by these men, and by dissolute per- 
sons assuming their character, that it became 
a matter of public grievance, and was obliged 
to be reformed by an express regulation in 
a. d. 1315. (Y) Notwithstanding which, an 
incident is recorded in the ensuing year, 
which showt that Minstrels still retained the 
liberty of entering at will into the royal re- 
presence, and had something peculiarly splen- 
did in their dress. It is thus related by 
Stow.(Z) 

" In the year 1316, Edward the Second did 
solemnize his feast of Pentecost at Westmin- 
ster, in the great hall ; where sitting royally 
at the table with his peers about him, there 
entered a woman adorned like a Minstrel, 
sitting on a great horse trapped, as Minstrels 
then used ; who rode round about the table, 
shewing pastime ; and at length came up to 
the king's table, and laid before him a letter, 
and forthwith turning her horse saluted 

every one and departed." The subject of 

this letter was a remonstrance to the king on 
the favours heaped by him on his minions, 
to the neglect of his knights and faithful ser- 
vants. 

The privileged character of a Minstrel was 
employed on this occasion, as sure of gaining 
an easy admittance ; and a female the rather 
deputed to assume it, that, in case of detec- 
tion, her sex mi»ht disarm the king's resent- 
ment. This is offered on a supposition that 
she was not a real minstrel ; for there should 
seem to have been women of this profes- 
sion (A a), as well as of the other sex ; and no 

* See Gray's Ode; a:-d the Hist, of the Gwedir Family in 
"Miscellanies by the Hon. Dailies Harrington," lTM, 4to., 
p. 386; who in the Laws, &c, of this monarch could find 
no instances of severity against the Welsh. See his observa- 
tions on the Statutes, 4to. 4th edit. p. 358. 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



accomplishment is so constantly attributed to 
females, by our ancient bards, as their sing- 
ing to, and playing on, the harp.(A a 2) 

In the fourth year of King Richard II., 
John of Gaunt erected at Tutbury in Stafford- 
shire, a court of Minstrels, similar to that 
annually kept at Chester, and which, like a 
court-leet or court baron, had a legal juris- 
diction, with full power to receive suit and 
service from the men of this profession within 
five neighbouring counties, to enact laws, and 
determine their controversies ; and to appre- 
hend and arrest such of them as should refuse 
to appear at the said court annually held on 
the 16th of August. For this they had a 
charter, by which they were empowered to 
appoint a King of the Minstrels with four 
officers to preside over them.(B b) These 
were every year elected with great ceremony ; 
the whole form of which, as observed in 1680, 
is described by Dr. Plot:* in whose time, 
however, they appear to have lost their sing- 
ing talents, and to have confined all their 
skill to "wind and string music. "f 

The Minstrels seem to have been in many 
respects upon the same footing as the her- 
alds : and the King of the Minstrels, like the 
king at arms, was both here and on the Con- 
tinent an usual officer in the courts of princes. 
Thus we have in the reign of King Edward 
I. mention of a King Robert and others. And 
in 16 Edward II. is a grant to William de 
Morlee, " the King's Minstrel, styled Roy de 
Nor(7i,"% of houses which had belonged to 
another king, John le Boteler.(B b 2) Ry- 
mcr hath also printed a license granted by 
King Richard II. in 1387, to John Caumz, 
the King of his Minstrels, to pass the seas, 
recommending him to the protection and 
kind treatment of all his subjects and allies.^ 

In the subsequent reign of King Henry 
IV. we meet with no particulars relating to 
the Minstrels in England, but we find in the 
Statute Book a severe law passed against 



* Hist, of Staffordshire, ch. 10, jS 69-76, p. 433 et seqq., of 
which see Extract? in Sir J. Hawkins's Hist, of Music, vol. 
ii. p. 64; and Dr. Bumey's Hist. vol. ii. p. 360 et seqq. 

N. B. The barbarous diversion of bull-running was no 
part of the original institution, &c, as is fully proved by 
the Rev. Dr. Pegge, in Archseolngia, vol. ii. no. xiii. p. 86. 

f See the charge given^iy the Steward, at the time of the 
election, iu Plot's Hist, ubi supra; and in Hawkins, p. 67. 
Burney, p. 363-4. 

X So among the Heralds Norrty was anciently styled Roy 
cTArmfs de North. (Anstis, ii. 300.) And the Kings at 
Amies in general were originally called Btgtt Heraldorum 
(Ibid. p. 302), as these were Eeges Minstrallorum. 

\ Rymer's Fcedera, torn. vii. p. 555. 



their brethren the Welsh Bards ; whom our 
ancestors could not distinguish from their 
own Rimours Miaistralx ; for by these names 
they describe them.(B b 3) This act plainly 
shows, that far from being extirpated by the 
rigorous policy of King Edward I., this or- 
der of men were still able to alarm the Eng- 
lish government, which attributed to them 
" many diseases and mischiefs in Wales," and 
prohibited their meetings and contributions. 
When his heroic son King Henry V. was 
preparing his great voyage for France, in 

1415, an express order was given for his Min- 
strels, fifteen in number, to attend him ;* 
and eighteen are afterwards mentioned, to 
each of whom he allowed xii. d. a day, when 
that sum must have been of more than ten 
times the value it is at present.! Yet when 
he entered London in triumph after the battle 
of Agincourt, he, from a principle of humi- 
lity, slighted the pageants and verses which 
were prepared to hail his return ; and, as we 
are told by Holingshed,J would not suffer 
" any dities to be made and song by Min- 
strels, of his glorious victorie ; for that he 
would whollie have the praise and thankes 
altogether given to God." (B b 4) But this 
did not proceed from any disregard for the 
professors of music or of song ; for at the 
feast of Pentecost, which he celebrated in 

1416, having the Emperor and the Duke of 
Holland for his guests, he ordered rich gowns 
for sixteen of his Minstrels, of which the par- 
ticulars are preserved by Rymer.# And 
having before his death orally granted an 
annuity of one hundred shillings to each of his 
Minstrels, the grant was confirmed in the first 
year of his son King Henry VI., A. D. 1423, 
and payment ordered out of the Exchequer. || 



* Rymer, ix. 255. t lbiu - P- 26 °- 

% See his Chronicle, sub anno 1415, p. 1170. He also 
gives this other instance of the king's great modesty, " that 
he would not suffer his helmet to be carried with him, and 
shewed to the people, that they might behold the dintes 
and cuttes whiche appeared in the same, of such blowes and 
stripes as hee received the daye of the battell." Ibid. Vid. 
T. de Elmham, c. 29, p. 72. 

The prohibition against vain and secular songs would 
probably not include that inserted in Series the Second 
Book I. No. V., which would be considered as a hymn. 
The original notes engraven on a plate at the end of the 
vol. may be seen reduced and set to score in Mr. Stafford 
Smith's " Collection of English Songs for three and four 
Voices," and in Dr. Burney's Hist, of Music, ii. p. 384. 

g Tom. ix. 336. 

|| Rymer, torn. x. 287. They are mentioned by name, 
being ten in number: one of them was named Tbomaj 
Chatterton. 






The unfortunate reign of King Henry VI. 
affords no occurrences respecting our subject ; 
but in his 34th year, A. D. 1456, we have in 
Rymer* a commission for impressing boys or 
youths, to supply vacancies by death among 
the King's Minstrels : in which it is expressly 
directed that they shall be elegant in their 
limbs, as well as instructed in the Minstrel 
art, wherever they can be found, for the so- 
lace of his majesty. 

In the following reign, King Edward IV. 
(in his 9th 3 T ear, 1469), upon a complaint 
that certain rude husbandmen and artificers 
of various trades had assumed the title and 
livery of the King's Minstrels, and under that 
colour and pretence had collected money in 
diverse parts of the kingdom, and committed 
other disorders, the king grants to Walter 
Haliday, Marshal, and to seven others his 
own Minstrels whom he names, a charter,f 
by which he creates, or rather restores, a fra- 
ternity or perpetual gild (such as, he under- 
stands, the brothers and sisters of the frater- 
nity of Minstrels had in times past), to be go- 
verned by a Marshall appointed for life, and 
by two Wardens to be chosen annually ; who 
are empowered to admit brothers and sisters 
into the said gild, and are authorized to exa- 
mine the pretensions of all such as affected 
to exercise the Minstrel profession ; and to 
regulate, govern, and punish them throughout 
the realm (those of Chester excepted). This 
seems to have some resemblance to the Earl 
Marshal's court among the heralds, and is ano- 
ther proof of the great affinity and resem- 
blance which the Minstrels bore to the mem- 
bers of the College of Arms. 

It is remarkable that Walter Haliday, 
whose name occurs as marshal in the forego- 
ing charter, had been retained in the service 
of the two preceding monarchs, King Henry 
V.J and VI. I Nor is this the first time he 
is mentioned as Marshal of the King's Min- 
strels, for in the third year of this reign 
1464, he had a grant from King Edward of 
10 marks per annum during life, directed to 
him with that title. II 



* Tom. xi. 375. 

t See it in Rymer, torn. xi. 642, and in Sir J. Hawkins, 
vol. iv. p. 366. Note. The above Charter is recited in 
letters patent of King Charles I.. 15 July (11 Anno Re;;ni), 
for a Corporation of Musicians, &c, in Westminster, which 
may be seen ibid. 

% Rymer, ix. 255. \ Ibid. xi. 375. 1 Ibid. xi. 512. 



But besides their Marshal, we have also in 
this reign mention of a Sergeant of the Min- 
strels, who upon a particular occasion was 
able to do his royal master a singular service, 
wherein his confidential situation and ready 
access to the king at all hours is very appa- 
rent: for " as he [King Edward IV.] was in 
the north contray in the monneth of Septem- 
bre, as he lay in his bedde, one namid Alex- 
ander Carlile, that was Sariaunt of the Myn- 
strellis, cam to him in grete hast, and badde 
hym aryse for he hadde enemyes cummyng 
for to take him, the which were within vi. or 
vii. mylis, of the which tydinges the king 
gretely marveylid," &c* This happened in 
the same year, 1469, wherein the king granted 
or confirmed the charter for the fraternity or 
gild above mentioned ; yet this Alexander 
Carlile is not one of the eight Minstrels to 
whom that charter is directed.! 

The same charter was renewed by King 
Henry VIII. in 1520, to John Gilman, his 
then marshal, and to seven others his Min- 
strels : J and on the death of Gilman, he 
granted in 1529, this office of Marshal of his 
Minstrels to Hugh Wodehouse,? whom I 
take to have borne the office of his serjeant 
over them. || 

VI. In all the establishments of royal and 
noble households, we find an ample provi- 
sion made for the Minstrels ; and their situa- 
tion to have been both honourable and lucra- 
tive. In proof of this it is sufficient to refer 
to the household book of the Earl of North- 
umberland, A. D. 1512. (Cc) And the rewards 
they received so frequently recur in ancient 
writers that it is unnecessary to crowd the 
page with them here.(C c 2) 

The name of Minstrel seems however to 



* Here unfortunately ends a curious fragment (an. 9 R. 
IV.), ad calcem Sprotti Chron. Ed. Hearne.Oxon.l719,8vo. 
Vid. T. Warton's Hist. ii. p. 134. Note (c). 

t Rymer, xi. 642. 

% Ibid. xiii. 705. 

\ Rymer, torn. xiv. 2. 93. 

|| So I am inclined to understand the term Serviens 
nnster Hugo Wodehous, in the original grant. (See Rymer 
ubi supra.) It is needless to observe that Serviens expressed 
a serjeant as well as a servant. If this interpretation of 
Serviens be allowed, it will account for his placing Wode- 
house at the head of his gild, although he had not been 
one of the eight minstrels who had had the general direc- 
tion. The Serjeant of his Minstrels, we may presume, was 
next in dignity to the Marshal, although he had no share 
•m-thgeovernment of the gild. 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



have been gradually appropriated to the mu- 
sician only, especially in the fifteenth and six- 
teenth centuries, yet we occasionally meet 
with applications of the term in its more en- 
larged meaning, as including the Singer, if not 
the composer, of heroic or popular rhymes.* 

In the time of King Henry VIII., we find 
it to have been a common entertainment to 
hear verses recited, or moral speeches learned 
for that purpose by a set of men who got 
their livelihood by repeating them, and who 
intruded without ceremony into all compa- 
nies ; not only in taverns, but in the houses 
of the nobility themselves. This we learn 
from Erasmus, whose argument led him only 
to describe a species of these men who did 
not sing their compositions ; but the others 
that did, enjoyed, without doubt, the same 
privileges. (D d) 

For even long after, in the reign of Queen 
Elizabeth, it was usual " in places of assem- 
bly" for the company to be " desirous to heare 
of old adventures and valiaunces of noble 
knights in times past, as those of King Ar- 
thur, and his knights of the round table, Sir 
Bevys of Southampton, Guy of Warwicke, and 
others like" in " short and long meetres, and 
by breaches or divisions, [sc. Fitsf] to be more 
commodiously sung to the harpe," as the 
reader may be informed by a courtly writer, 
in 15894 Who himself had "written for 
pleasure a little briefe romance or historicall 

ditty of the Isle of Great Britaine," in 

order to contribute to such entertainment. 
And he subjoins this caution: " Such as have 
not premonition hereof," (viz. that his poem 
was written in short metre, &c, to be sung 
to the harp in such places of assembly,) " and 
consideration of the causes alledged, would 
peradventure reprove and disgrace every ro- 
mance, or short historicall ditty, for that they 
be not written in long meeters or verses Alex- 
andras," which constituted the prevailing 
versification among the poets of that age, and 
which no one now can endure to read. 

And that the recital of such romances sung 
to the harp was at that time the delight of 
the common people, we are told by the same 
writer,^ who mentions that "common rimers" 



* See below, and not* (G g). 
t See vol. ii. page 174. 

% Puttenham in his " Arte of English Poesie," 1589, 4to. 
p. 33. 

£ Puttenham, &c, p. 69. 



were fond of using rimes at short distances, 
" in small and popular musickes song by these 
Cantabanqui" [the said common rimers] 
" upon benches and barrels heads," &c, " or 
else by blind Harpers or such like Taverne 
Minstrels that give a fit of mirth for a groat; 
and their matter being for the most part sto- 
ries of old time, as the tale of Sir Topas, the 
reportes of Bevis of Southampton, Guy of 
Warwicke, Adam Bell, and Clymme of the 
Clough, and such other old romances, or his- 
toricall rimes," &c, " also they be used in 
carols and rounds, and such light or lascivious 
poemes, which are commonly more commodi- 
ously uttered by these buffons, or vices in 
playes, then by any other person. Such were 
the rimes of Skelton (usurping the name of a 
Poet Laureat), being in deede but a rude 
railing rimer, and all his doings ridiculous."* 

But although we find here that the Min- 
strels had lost much of their dignity, and 
were sinking into contempt and neglect, yet 
that they still sustained a character far supe- 
rior to anything we can conceive at present 
of the singers of old ballads, I think, may be 
inferred from the following representation. 

When Queen Elizabeth was entertained at 
Killingworth Castle by the Earl of Leicester 
in 1575, among the many devices and pageants 
which were contrived for her entertainment, 
one of the personages introduced was to have 
been that of an ancient Minstrel ; whose 
appearance and dress areso minutely described 
by a writer there present,! and gives us so 
distinct an idea of the character, that I shall 
quote the passage at large. (E e) 

" A person very meet seemed he for the 
purpose, of a xlv years old, apparelled partly 
as he would himself. His cap off: his head 
seemly rounded tonsterwise:J fair kembed, 
that with a sponge daintily dipt in a little 
capon's greace was finely smoothed, to make 
it shine like a mallard's wing. His beard 
smugly shaven : and yet his shirt after the 
new trink, with ruffs fair starched, sleeked 

* Puttenham, &c, p. 69. 

■f See a very curious " Letter : whearin, part of the enter- 
tainment untoo the Queenz Maiesty, at Killingwoorth Castl, 
in Warwick Sheer, in this soomerz progress 1575, iz signi* 
fied," Ac, bl. 1. 4to. vid. p. 46 & seqq. (Printed in Nichols'i 
Collection of Queen Elizabeth's Progresses, <fec, in two vols. 
4to.) We have not followed above the peculiar and affected 
orthography of this writer, who was named Ro. Laneham, 
or rather Langham ; see p. 84. 

J I suppose " tonsure-wise," after the manner of the 
Monks. 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



and glistering like a pair of new shoes, mar- 
shalled in g>>od order with a setting stick, and 
strut, that every ruff stood up like a wafer. 
A side [i. e. long] gown of Kendal green, 
after the freshness of the year now, gathered 
at the neck with a narrow gorget, fastened 
afore with a white clasp and a keeper close 
up to the chin ; but easily, for heat to undo 
when he list. Seemly begirt in a red caddis 
girdle : from that a pair of capped Sheffield 
knives hanging a two sides. Out of his bosom 
drawn forth a lappet of his napkin* edged 
with a blue lace, and marked with a true 
love, a heart, and a D for Damian, for he was 
but a bachelor yet. 

" His gown had side [i. e. long] sleeves 
down to mid-leg, slit from the shoulder to 
the hand, and lined with white cotton. His 
doublet-sleeves of black worsted : upon them 
a pair of poynetsf of tawny chamlet laced 
along the wrist with blue threaden points, a 
wealt towards the hand of fustian-a-napes. 
A pair of red neather stocks. A pair of pumps 
on his feet, with a cross cut at the toes for 
corns: not new indeed, yet cleanly blackt 
with soot, and shining as a shoing horn. 

"About his neck a red ribband suitable to 
his girdle. His harp in good grace dependent 
before him. His wrestj tyed to a green lace 
and hanging by. Under the gorget of his 
gown a fair flaggon chain (pewter,? for) sil- 
ver, as a Squire Minstrel of Middlesex, that 
travelled the country this summer season, 
unto fairs and worshipful mens houses. From 
his chain hung a scutcheon, with metal and 
colour, resplendant upon his breast, of the 
ancient arms of Islington." 

This Minstrel is described as belonging to 
that village. I suppose such as were retained 
by noble families wore the arms of their pa- 
trons hanging down by a silver chain as a 
kind of badge. || From the expression of Squire 



* i.e. handkerchief. So in Shakspeare's Othello, passim. 

f Perhaps, points. 

J The key, or screw, with which he tuned his harp. 

\ The reader will remember that this was not a real 
Minstrel, but only one personating that character; his 
ornaments therefore were only such as outwardly repre- 
sented those of a real Minstrel. 

|| As the House of Northumberland had anciently three 
Minstrels attending on them in their castles in Yorkshire, 
so they still retain three in tbeir service in Northumber- 
land, who wear the badge of the family (a silver crescent 
on the right arm), and are thus distributed, viz. one for 
the barony of Prudhoe, and two for the barony of Roth- 
bury. These attend the court leets and fairs held for the 



Minstrel above, we may conclude there were 
other inferior orders, as Yeomen Minstrels, 
or the like. 

This Minstrel, the author tells us a little 
below, "after three lowly courtsies, cleared 
his voice with a hem . . . and . . . wiped his 
lips with the hollow of his hand for 'filling 
his napkin, tempered a string or two with his 
wrest, and after a little warbling on his harp 
for a prelude, came forth with a solemn song, 
warranted for story out of King Arthur's 
acts," &c. — This song the reader will find 
printed in this work. 

Towards the end of the sixteenth century 
this class of men had lost all credit, and were 
sunk so low in the public opinion, that in the 
39th year of Elizabeth,* a statute was passed 
by which " Minstrels, wandering abroad," 
were included among "rogues, vagabonds, 
and sturdy beggars," and were adjudged to 
be punished as such. This act seems to have 
put an end to the profession. (E e 2) 

VII. I cannot conclude this account of the 
ancient English Minstrels, without remarking 
that they are most of them represented to 
have been of the North of England. There 
is scarce an old historical song or ballad (F f) 
wherein a Minstrel or Harper appears, but he 
is characterized by way of eminence to have 
been " of the North Countrye :" and indeed 
the prevalence of the northern dialect in such 
compositions, shows that this representation 
is real.f On the other hand the scene of the 



lord, and pay their annual suit and service at Alnwick 
Castle: their instrument being the ancient Northumber- 
land bagpipe (very different in form and execution from 
that of the Scots; being smaller, and blown, not with the 
breath, but with a small pair of bellows). 

This, with many other venerable customs of the ancient 
Lord Percys, was revived by their illustrious representa- 
tives, the late Duke and Duchess of Northumberland. 

* Anno Dom. 1597. Vid. Pult. Stat. p. 1110, 39° Eliz. 

f Giraldus Cambrensis, writing in the reign of King 
Henry II., mentions a very extraordinary habit or pro- 
pensity, which then prevailed in the North of England, 
beyond the Humber, for " symphonious harmony" or sing- 
ing ''in two parts, the one murmuring in the base, and 
the other warbling in the acute or treble." (I use Dr. 
Burney's Version, vol. ii. p. 108.) This he describes as 
practised by their very children from the cradle; and he 
derives it from the Danes [so Dad signifies in our old 
writers] and Norwegians, who long overran, and in effect 
new-peopled, the Northern parts of England, where slone 
this manner of singing prevailed. (Vide Cambrise Descrip- 
tio, cup. 13. and in Burney ubi supra.) — Giraldus is proba- 
bly right as to the origin or derivation of this practice, for 
the Danish and Icelandic Scalds had carried the arts of 
Poetry and Singing to great perfection at the time the 
Danish settlements were made in the North. And it will 

4 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



finest Scottish ballads is laid in the south of 
Scotland ; which should seem to have been 
peculiarly the nursery of Scottish Minstrels. 
In the old song of Maggy Lawder, a piper is 
asked, by way of distinction, " come ze frae 
the border V* The martial spirit constantly 
kept up and exercised near the frontier of the 
two kingdoms, as it furnished continual sub- 
jects for their songs, so it inspired the inhab- 
itants of the adjacent counties on both sides 
with the powers of poetry. Besides, as our 
southern metropolis must have been ever the 
scene of novelty and refinement, the northern 
countries, as being most distant, would pre- 
serve their ancient manners longest, and of 
course the old poetry, in which those manners 
are peculiarly described. 

The reader will observe in the more ancient 
ballads of this collection, a cast of style and 
measure very different from that of contem- 
porary poets of a higher class ; many phrases 
and idioms, which the Minstrels seem to have 
appropriated to themselves, and a very re- 
markable license of varying the accent of 
words at pleasure, in order to humour the flow 
of the verse, particularly in the rhymes ; as 

also help to account for the superior skill and fame of our 
northern Minstrels and Harpers afterwards, who had pre- 
served and transmitted the arts of their Scaldic ancestors. 
See Northern Antiquities, vol. i. c. 13, p. 386, and Five 
Pieces of Runic Poetry, 1763, 8vo. — Compare the original 
passage in Giraldus, as given by Sir John Hawkins, i. 408, 
and by Dr. Burney, ii. 108, who are both at a loss to account 
for this peculiarity, and therefore doubt the fact. The cre- 
dit of Giraldus, which hath been attacked by some partial 
and bigoted antiquaries, the reader will find defended in 
that learned and curious work, " Antiquities of Ireland, 
by Edward Ledwich, LL.D., &c, Dublin, 1790," 4to., p. 207 
& Beqq. 

* This line being quoted from memory, and given as old 
Scottish Poetry is now usually printed, would have been 
readily corrected by the copy published in " Scottish Songs, 
1794," 2 vols., 12mo. i. p. 267, thus (though apparently cor- 
rupted from the Scottish Idiom), 

"Live you upo' the Border?" 
had not all confidence been destroyed by its being altered 
in the " Historical Essay" prefixed to that publication 
(p. ex.) to 

" Ye live upo' the Border." 
the better to favour a position, that many of the pipers 
" might live upon the border, for the conveniency of attend- 
ing fairs, &c, in both kingdoms." But whoever is 
acquainted with that part of England, knows that on the 
English frontier, rude mountains and barren wastes reach 
almost across the island, scarcely inhabited by any but 
solitary shepherds ; many of whom durst not venture into 
the opposite border on account of the ancient feuds and 
subsequent disputes concerning the Debateable Lands, 
which separated the boundaries of the two kingdoms, as 
well as the estates of the two great families of Percy and 
Douglas, till these disputes were settled not many years 
sinco by arbitration between the present Lord Douglas and 
iho late Duko and Duchess of Northumberland. 



Countne harper battel morning 

Ladle singer damsel loving, 

instead of country, lady, haiper, singer, &c— 
This liberty is but sparingly assumed by the 
classical poets of the same age ; or even by 
the latter composers of heroical ballads ; I 
mean, by such as professedly wrote for the 
press. For it is to be observed, that so long 
as the Minstrels subsisted, they seem never 
to have designed their rhymes for literary 
publication, and probably never committed 
them to writing themselves: what copies are 
preserved of them were doubtless taken down 
from their mouths. But as the old Minstrels 
gradually wore out, a new race of ballad- 
writers succeeded, an inferior sort of minor 
poets, who wrote narrative songs merely for 
the press. Instances of both may be found 
in the reign of Elizabeth. The two latest 
pieces in the genuine strain of the old min- 
strelsy that I can discover, are No. III. and IV. 
of Book III., Series the First. Lower than 
these I cannot trace the old mode of writing. 

The old Minstrel ballads are in the north- 
ern dialect, abound with antique words and 
phrases, are extremely incorrect, and run into 
the utmost license of metre ; they have also a 
romantic wildness, and are in the true spirit 
of chivalry. The other sort are written in ex- 
acter measure, have a low or subordinate cor- 
rectness, sometimes bordering on the insipid, 
yet often well adapted to the pathetic : these 
are generally in the southern dialect, exhibit a 
more modern phraseology, and are commonly 
descriptive of more modern manners. — To be 
sensible of the difference between them, let 
the reader compare in Series the First, No. 
III. of Book III., with No. XI. of Book II. 

Towards the end of Queen Elizabeth's 
reign (as is mentioned above), the genuine 
old minstrelsy seems to have been extinct, 
and thenceforth the ballads that were pro- 
duced were wholly of the latter kind, and 
these came forth in such abundance, that in 
the reign of James I. they began to be col- 
lected into little miscellanies, under the name 
of garlands, and at length to be written pur- 
posely for such collections. (F f 2) 

p.S. — By way of Postscript, should follow 
here the discussion of the question whether the 
term Minstrels was applied in English to 
Singers, and Composers of Songs, rf*c, or 
confined to Musicians only. But it is reserved 
for the concluding note. (G g) 



NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS 



REFERRED TO IN THE 



FOREGOING ESSAY. 



(A) The Minstrels, &c. The word Min- 
strel does not appear to have been in use here 
before the Norman Conquest; whereas, it 
had long before that time been adopted in 
France.* — Menestrel, so early as the eighth 
century, was a title given to the Maestro di 
Capella of King Pepin, the father of Charle- 
magne ; and afterwards to the Coryphaeus, or 
leader of any band of musicians. [Vid. Bur- 
ney's Hist, of Music, ii. 268.] This term 
menestrel, menestrier, was thus expressed in 
Latin, ministellus, minisirellus, mitiistraUus, 
menesterellus, &c. [Vid. Gloss. Du Cange et 
Supplem.] 

Menage derives the French words above 
mentioned from minister ialis, or ministeria- 
rius, barbarous Latin terms, used in the mid- 
dle ages to express a workman or artificer 
(still called in Languedoc minisiraV), as if 
these men were styled Artificers or Per- 
formers by way of excellence. [Vid. Diction. 
Etym.] But the origin of the name is given, 
perhaps more truly, by Du Cange: " Minis- 
telli .... quos vulgo menestreux vel menes- 
triers appellamus, quod minoribus aula3 
ministris accenserentur." [Gloss, iv. p. 769.] 
Accordingly, we are told, the word "minister" 
is sometimes used "pro ministellus" [Ibid.] 
and an instance is produced which I shall 
insert at large in the next paragraph. 



* The Anglo-Saxon and primary English name for this 
character was Gleman [see below, note (I) sect. 1]. so that, 
wherever the term Minstrel is in these pages applied to it 
before the Conquest, it must be understood to be only by 
anticipation. Another early name for this profession in 
English was Jogeler, or Jocular. Lat. Joculator. [See p. 
15, as also note (V 2) and note (Q).] To prevent confusion, 
we have chiefly used the more general word Minstrel : 
which (as the author of the Observ. on the Statutes hath 
suggested to the Editor) might bave been originally derived 
from a diminutive of the Lat. Minister, soil. Ministerellus, 
Minisirellus. 



Minstrels sometimes assisted at divine ser- 
vice, as appears from the record of the 9th 
of Edw. IV., quoted above in p. xix.,by which 
Haliday and others are erected into a per- 
petual gild, &c. See the original in Bymer, 
xi. 642. By part of this record it is recited 
to be their duty, "to pray (exorare : which it 
is presumed they did by assisting in the 
chant, and musical accompaniment, &c.) in 
the king's chapel, and particularly for the 
departed souls of the king and queen when 
they shall die, &c." — The same also appears 
from the passage in the Supplem. to Du 
Cange, alluded to above. " Minister .... pro 
ministellus joculator.* — Vetus Ceremoniale 
MS. B.M. deauratse Tolos. Item, etiam con- 
gregabuntur piscatores, qui debent interesse 
isto die in processione cum ministris seu 
joculatoribus : quia ipsi piscatores teuentur 
habere isto dlejoculatores, seu mimos ob hono- 
rem Crueis — et vadunt primi ante processio- 
nem cum ministris seu joculatoribus semper 
pulsantibus usque ad ecclesium S. Stephani." 
[Gloss. 773.] — This may, perhaps, account 
for the clerical appearance of the minstrels, 
who seem to have been distinguished by the 
tonsure, which was one of the inferior marks 
of the clerical character.! Thus Jeifrey of 



* Ministers seems to be used for Minstrels in the Account 
of the Iuthronization of Abp. Neville. (An. 6 Edw. IV.) 
"Then all the Chaplyns must say grace, and the Ministers 
do sing." Vid. Lelandi Collectanea, by Hearne, vol. vi. 
p. 13. 

t It has however been suggested to the Editor by the 
learned and ingenious author of "Irish Antiquities," 4to., 
that the ancient Mimi among the Romans had their heads 
and beards shaven, as is shown by Salmasius in Notts ad 
Hist. August. Ssriptnres VI. Paris, 1620, fol. p. 385. So that 
this peculiarity bad a classical origin, though it afterwards 
might make the Minstrels sometimes pass for Ecclesiastics, 
as appears from the instance piven below. Dr. Buruey 
tells us that Histrione.s, and Mimi, abounded in France in 

L23J 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



Monmouth, speaking of one who acted the 
part of a minstrel, says, " Rasit capillos suos 
et barbani" (see note K). Again, a writer in 
the reign of Elizabeth, describing the habit 
of an ancient minstrel, speaks of his head 
as "rounded Tonster-wise" (which I venture 
to read tonsure-wise), "his beard smugly 
shaven." See above, p. xx. 

It must, however, be observed, that not- 
withstanding such clerical appearance of the 
minstrels, and though they might be some- 
times countenanced by such of the clergy as 
were of more relaxed morals, their sportive 
talents rendered them generally obnoxious to 
the more rigid ecclesiastics, and to such of 
the religious orders as were of more severe 
discipline ; whose writings commonly abound 
with heavy complaints of the great encourage- 
ment shown to those men by the princes and 
nobles, and who can seldom afford them a 
better name than that of scurrce, famelici, 
nebulones, &c, of which innumerable in- 
stances may be seen in Du Cange. It was 
even an established order in some of the 
monasteries, that no minstrel should ever be 
suffered to enter the gates.* 

We have, however, innumerable particulars 
of the good cheer and great rewards given to 
the Minstrels in many of the Convents, which 
are collected by T. Worton (i. 91, &c), and 
others. But one instance, quoted from Wood's 
Hist. Antiq. Univ. Ox. i. 67 (sub an. 1224), 
deserves particular mention. Two itinerant 
priests, on a supposition of their being Mi/mi 
or Minstrels, gained admittance. But the 
cellarer, sacrist, and others of the brethren, 
who had hoped to have been entertained with 
their diverting arts, &c, when they found 
them to be only two indigent Ecclesiastics, 
who could only administer spiritual consola- 
tion, and were consequently disappointed of 
their mirth, beat them, and turned them out 
of the monastery. (Ibid. p. 92.) This pas- 
sage furnishes an additional proof that a 



the time of Charlemagne (ii. 221), so that their profession 
was handed down iu regular succession from the time of 
the Jiomans, and therewith some leading distinctions of 
their habit or appearance; yet with a change in their arts 
of pleasing, which latterly were most confined to singing 
and music. 

* Yet. in St. Mary'schurch at Beverley, oneof the columns 
hath this inscription : "Thys Pillar made the Mynstrylls f ' 
having its capital decorated with figures of five men in 
short coats; one of whom holds an instrument resembling 
a lute. See Six J. Hawkins, Hist. ii. 298. 



Minstrel might by his dress or appearance be 
mistaken for an Ecclesiastic. 

(B) ["The Minstrels use mimicry and 
action, and other means of diverting, &c."J 
It is observable that our old monkish histo- 
rians do not use the words Cantator, Citha- 
rcedus, Musicus, or the like, to express a 
Minstrel in Latin, so frequently as Mimus, 
Histrio, Joculator, or some other word that 
implies gesture. Hence it might be inferred, 
that the Minstrels set off their songs with all 
the arts of gesticulation, &c, or, according to 
the ingenious hypothesis of Dr. Brown, united 
the powers of melody, poem, and dance. [See 
his History of the Rise of Poetry, &c] 

But indeed all the old writers describe 
them as exercising various arts of this kind. 
Joinville, in his Life of St. Lewis, speaks of 
some Armenian Minstrels, who were very 
dextrous Tumblers and Posture-masters. 
"Avec le Prince vinrent trois Menestriers de 
la Grande Hyermenie (Armenia) . . . . et 

avoient trois cors Quand ils encommen- 

ceoient a corner, vous dissiez que ce sont lea 
voix de cygnes, . . . et fesoient les plus douces 

melodies. Ils fesoient trois marveilleus 

saus, car on leur metoit une touaille desous 
les piez, et tournoient tout debout .... Les 
deux tournoient les testes arieres," &c. [See 
the extract at large, in the Hon. D. Barring- 
ton's Observations on the Anc. Statutes, 4to., 
2d Edit. p. 273, omitted" in the last impres- 
sion.] 

This may also account for that remarkable 
clause in the press warrant of Henry VI. 
" De Ministrallis propter solatium Regis pro- 
videndis," by which it is required, that the 
boys, to be provided "in arte Ministrallatus 
instructos," should also be"membris natu- 
ralibus elegantes." See above page six. (Ob- 
serv. on the Anc. Stat. 4th Edit. p. 337.) 

Although by Minstrel was properly under- 
stood, in English, one who sung to the harp, 
or some other instrument of music, verses 
composed by himself or others ; yet the term 
was also applied by our old writers to such 
as professed either music or singing sepa- 
rately, and perhaps to such as practised any 
of the sportive arts connected with these.* 
Music, however, being the leading idea, was 
at length peculiarly called Minstrelsy, and 

'* Tid. infra, Not. (A a). 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



the name of Minstrel at last confined to the 
Musician only. 

In the French language all these Arts were 
included under the general name of Menes- 
traudie, Menestraudite, Jonglerie, &c. [Med. 
Lat. Mates lellorum Ars, Ars Joculatoria, &c.J 
— " On peut comprendre sous le nom de Jon- 
glerie tout ce qui appartient aux anciens chari- 
gonniers Provenqtux, Normands, Pieards, 
&e. Ee corps de la Jonglerie etoit forme des 
Trouv-cres, ou Troubadours, qui composient les 
chansons, et parmi lesquels il y avoit des 1m- 
provisateurs, comme on en trouve en Italie; 
des Chantcurs ou Chanteres qui executoient 
ou chantoient ces compositions ; des Conteurs 
qui faisoient en vers ou en prose les contes, 
les recits, les histoires ; des Jongleurs ou 
Meneslrels qui accompagnoient de leurs in- 
struments. L'art de ces Chantres ou Chan- 

sonniers, etoit nomme la Science Gaie, Gay 
Saber." (Pref. Anthologie Fran<j. 1765, 8vo. 

p. 17.) See also the curious Fauchet (De 

V Orig. de la Lang. Fr. p. 72, &c.) " Bien tost 
apres la division de ce grand empire Franqois 
en tant de petits royaumes, duchez, et comtez, 
au lieu des Poetes commencerent a se faire 
cognoistre les Troverres, et Chanterres, Con- 
tain rs, et Juglcours : qui sont Trouveurs, 
Chantres, Conteurs, Jongleurs, ou Jugleurs, 
c'est a dire, Menestriers chantans avec la 
viole." 

AVe see then that Jongleur, Jugleur (Lat. 
Joeulalor, Jugulator), was a peculiar name 
appropriated to the Minstrels. " Les Jon- 
gleurs ne fasoient que chanter les ooesies sur 
leurs instrumens. On les appelloit aussi 
Menestrels:" says Fontenelle, in his Hist, du 
Theat. Franc, prefixed to his Life of Corneille. 

(C) " Successors of the ancient Bards." 
That the Minstrels in many respects bore a 
strong resemblance both to the British Bards 
and to the Danish Scalds, appears from this, 
that the old Monkish writers express them 
all without distinction by the same names in 
Latin. Thus Geoffrey of Monmouth, him- 
self a Welshman, speaking of an old pagan 
British king, who excelled in singing and 
music so far as to be esteemed by his coun- 
trymen the Patron Deity of the Bards, uses 
the phrase Deus Joculatorum ; which is the 
peculiar name given to the English and 
French Minstrels.* In like manner, William 

* Vid. note (B) (K) (Q). 



Malmsbury, speaking of a Danish king's 
assuming the profession of a Scald, expresses 
it by Proj'essus Mimum ; which was another 
name given to the Minstrels in Middle Latin- 
ity.* Indeed Du Cange, in his Glossary, 
quotes a writer, who positively asserts that 
the Minstrels of the middle ages were the 
same with the ancient Bards. 1 shall give a 
large extract from this learned glossographer, 
as he relates many curious particulars con- 
cerning the profession and arts of the Min 
strels ; whom, after the Monks, he stigma- 
tizes by the name of Scurra ; though he 
acknowledges their songs often tended to 
inspire virtue. 

" Ministelli, dicti prtesertim Scurra?, Mimi, 
Joculatores." .... "Ejusmodi Scurrarum 
munus erat prineipes non suis duntaxat ludi- 
cris oblectare, sed et eorum aures variis, 
avorum, adeoque ipsorum principum laudi- 
bus, non sine Assentatione, cum cantilenis et 
musicis instru mentis demulcere .... 

" Interdum etiam virorum insignium et 
heroum gesta, aut explicata et jocunda nar- 
ratione commemorabant, aut suavi vocis in- 
flexione, fidibusque decantabant, quo sic 
dominorum, caHurorumque qui his intererant 
ludicris, nobilium animos ad virtutem capes- 
sendam, et summorum virorum imitationem 
accenderent : quod fuit olim apud Callos 
Bardorum ministerium, ut auctor est Tacitus. 
Neque enim alios a Ministellis, veterum Gal- 
lorum Bardos fuisse pluribus probat Ileuricus 
Valesius ad 15 Ammiani .... Chronicon 
Bertrandi Guesclini. 

"Qui veut avoir renom des bons et des vaillans 
II doit aler souvent a la pluie et au champs 
Et estre en la bataille, ainsy que fu Rollans, 
Les Quatre Fils Ilaimon, et Charlon li plus 

grans, 
Li dus Lions de Bourges, et Guions de 

Connans, 
Perceval li Galois, Lancelot, et Tristans, 
Alixandres, Artus, Godfroi li Sachans, 
De quoy cils Menestriers font les nobles 
Romans." 

" Nicolaus de Braia describens solenne con- 
vivium, quo post inaugurationem suam pro- 
ceres excepit Lud. VIII. rex Francorum, ait 
inter ipsius convivii apparatum, in medium 
prodiisse Mimum, qui regis laudes ad cytha- 
rum decantavit." — 

* Vid. note (N). 



XXVI 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



Our author then gives the lines at length, 
which begin thus, 

" Duinque fovent genium geniali munere Bac- 

chi, 
Nectare commixto curasremovente Lyaeo 
Principis a facie, citharae celeberrimus arte 
Assurgit Mimus, ars musica quem decoravit, 
Hie ergo chorda resonante subintulit ista: 
Inclyte rex reguni, probitatis stemmate ver- 

nans, 
Quem vigor et virtus extollit in aethera fa- 

mae," &c. 

The rest .may be seen in Du Cange, who 
thus proceeds, " Mitto reliqua similia, ex 
quibus omnino patet ejusmodi Mimorum et 
Ministellorum cantilenas ad virtutem princi- 

pes excitasse Id praesertim in pugnae 

praecinctu, dominis suis occinebant, ut mar- 
tium ardorem in eorem animis concitarent ; 
cujusmodi cantum Cantilenam Rollandi appel- 

lat Will. Malmesb. lib. 3. Aimoinus, lib. 

4. de Mirac. S. Bened. c. 37. ' Tanta vero 

illis securitas ut Scurram se precedere 

facerent, qui musico instrumento res fortiter 
gestas et priorum bella praeeineret, quatenus 
his acrius incitarentur,' " &c. As the writer 
was a monk, we shall not wonder at his call- 
ing the Minstrel, Scurram. 

This word Scurra, or some one similar, is 
represented in the Glossaries as the proper 
meaning of Leccator (Fr. Leccour) the ancient 
term by which the Minstrel appears to be ex- 
pressed in the Grant to Dutton, quoted above 
in p;ige xxxvii. On this head I shall produce 
a very curious passage, which is twice quoted 
in Du Cange's Glossary, (sc. ad verb. Men- 

estellus et ad verb. Lecator.) " Phillippus 

Mouskes in Philip. Aug. fingit Carolum M. 
Provincie comitatum Scurris et Mimis suis 
olim donasse, indeque postea tan turn in hac 
regione poetarum nuinerum excrevisse. 

"Quar quant li buens Rois Karlemaigne, 
Ot toute mise a son demaine 
Provence, qui mult iert plentive 
De vins, de bois, d'aigue, de rive, 
As Leccours as Menestreus 
Qui sont auques luxurious 
Le donna toute et departi." 

(D) " The Poet and the Minstrel early with 



us became two persons."] The word Scald 
comprehended both characters among the 
Danes, nor do I know that they had any pe- 
culiar name for either of them separate. But it 
was not so with the Anglo-Saxons. They called 
a poet See op, and Leoftpylita ; the last 
of these comes from Leo$, a song ; and the 
former answers to our old word Maker (Gr. 
notnrrii) being derived from Scippan or 8ceo- 
pan, formare, facere, Jingere, creare (Ang. to 
shape). As for the Minstrel, they distin- 
guished him by the peculiar appellation of 
Ijhgman, and perhaps by the more simple 
title of Heapperie, Harper: [See below 
Notes (II), (I).] This last title, at least, is often 
given to a Minstrel by our most ancient Eng- 
lish rhymists. See in this work series i. p. 
89, &c, series iii. p. 

(E) " Minstrels at the houses of the 

great," &c] Du Cange affirms, that in the 
middle ages the courts of princes swarmed so 
much with this kind of men, and such large 
sums were expended in maintaining and re- 
warding them, that they often drained the 
royal treasuries : especially, he adds, of such 
as were delighted with their flatteries (" prge- 
sertim qui ejusmodi Ministellorum assenta- 
tionibus delectabantur.") He then confirms 
his assertion by several passages out of 
monastic writers, who sharply inveigh against 
this extravagance. Of these I shall here se- 
lect only one or two, which show what kind 
of rewards were bestowed on these old Song- 
sters. 

" Rigordus de Gestis Philippi Aug. an. 
1185. Cum in curiis regum seu aliorum prin- 
cipum, frequens turba Ilistrionum convenire 
soleat, ut ab eis Aurum, Argentum, Equos, 
seu vestes,* quos persaepe mutare consueve- 
runt principes, ab eis extorqueant, verba joc- 
ulatoria variis adulationibus plena proferre 
nituntur. Et ut magis placeant, quicquid de 
ipsis principibus probabiliter fingi potest, vi- 
delicit omnes delitias et lepores, et visu dig- 



* The Minstrels in France were received with great mag- 
nificence in the fourteenth century. Froissart, describing 
a Christmas entertainment given by the Oomte de Foix, 
tells us, that " there many Myustrels, as well of hya own 
as of straungers, and eche of them dyd their devoyre in 
their faculties. The same day the Earle of Foix gave to 
Ilau raids and Minstrelles the som of fyve hundred frankes : 
and gave to the Duke of Tonrayns Mynstrelcs gownes of 
clothe of gold furred with ermyne valued at two hundred 
frankes." B. iii. c. 31. Eng. Trans. Lond. 1525. (Mr. C.) 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



nas urbanitates et casteras ineptias, trutinan- 
tibus buccis in medium eructare non erub- 
escunt. Vidimus quondam quosdam princi- 
pes, qui vestes diu excogitatas, et variis no- 
rum picturationibus artifieiose elaboratas, pro 
quibus forsan 20 vel. 30 marcas argenti con- 
6umpserant, vix revolutis septem diebus, Ilis- 
trionibus, ministris diaboli, ad primam vocem 
dedisse, &c." 

The curious reader may find a similar, 
though at the same time a more candid ac- 
count, in that most excellent writer, Presid. 
Fauchet: (Recueil de la Lang. Fr. p. 73), 
who says that, like the ancient Greek Ae«5oi, 
" Nos Trouverres, ainsi que ceux la, prenans 
leur subject sur les faits des vaillans (qu'ils 
appelloyent Geste, venant de Gcsta Latin) 
alloyent . . . par les cours rejouir les Princes 

Remportans des grandes recompences 

des seigneurs, qui bien souvent leur donnoy- 
ent jusques aux robes qu'ils avoyent vestues : 
et lesquelles ces Jugleours ne failloyent de 
porter aux autres cours, a fin d'inviter les 
seigneurs a pareille liberalite. Ce qui a dure 
si longuement, qu'il me souvient avoir veu 
Marten Baraton (ja viel Menestrierd'Orleans) 
lequel aux festes et nopees batoit un tabourin 
d'argent, seme des plaques aussi d'argent, 
gravees des armoiries de ceux a qui il avoit 
appris a danser." — Here we see that a Min- 
strel sometimes performed the function of a 
dancing-master. 

Fontenelle even gives us to understand, 
that these men were often rewarded with fa- 
vours of a still higher kind. " Les princesses 
et les plus grandes dames y joignoient souvent 
leurs faveurs. Elles etoient fort foibles con- 
tre les beaux esprits." (Hist, du The\it.) 
We are not to wonder then that this profes- 
sion should be followed by men of the first 
quality, particularly the younger sons and 
brothers of great houses. " Tel qui par les 
partages de fa famille n'avoit que la moitie 
ou le quart d'une vieux chateaux bien sei- 
gneuriul, alloit que'que temps courir le monde 
en rimant, et revenoit acquerir le reste de 
Chateau." (Fontenelle Hist, du Theat.) We 
see, then, that there was no improbable fiction 
in those ancient songs and romances, which 
are founded on the story of Minstrels being 
beloved by kings' daughters, &c, and disco- 
vering themselves to be tho eons of some 
foreign prince, &c. 



(F) The honours and rewards lavished 
upon the Minstrels were not confined to the 
continent. Our own countryman Johannes 
Sarisburiensis (in the time of Henry II.) de- 
claims no less than the Monks abroad, against 
the extravagant favour shown to those men. 
" Non enim more nugatorum ejus seculi in 
Histriones et Mimos, et hujusmodi monstra 
hominum, ob famas redemptionem et dilata- 
tionem nominis effunditis opes vestras," &c. 
[Epist. 247.* | 

The Monks seem to grudge every act of 
munificence that was not applied to the benefit 
of themselves and their convents. They there- 
fore bestow great applauses upon the Empe- 
ror Henry, who at his marriage with Agnes 
of Poictou, in 1044, disappointed the poor 
Minstrels, and sent them away empty. " In- 
finitum Histrionem et Joculatorum multitu- 
dinem sine cibo et muneribus vacuam et moe- 
rentem abire permisit." (Chronic Virtzi- 
burg.) For which I doubt not but he was suffi- 
ciently stigmatized in the Songs and Ballads 
of those times. Vid. Du Cange, Gloss, torn, 
iv. p. 771, &c. 

(G) " The annals of the Anglo-Saxons are 
scanty and defective."] Of the few histories 
now remaining that were written before the 
Norman Conquest, almost all are such short 
and naked sketches and abridgments, giving 
only a concise and general relation of the 
more remarkable events, that scarce any of 
the minute circumstantial particulars are to 
be found in them : nor do they hardly ever 
descend to a description of the customs, man- 
ners, or domestic economy of their country- 
men. The Saxon Chronicle, for instance, 
which is the best of them, and upon some ac- 
counts extremely valuable, is almost such an 
epitome as Lucius Florus and Eutropius have 
left us of the Roman history. As for Ethel- 
ward, his book is judged to be an imperfect 
translation of the Saxon Chronicle;! and the 
Pseudo-Asser, or Chronicle of St. Neot, is a 
poor defective performance. How absurd 
would it be then to argue against the exist- 
ence of customs or facts, from the silence of 
such scanty records as these! Whoever 
would carry his researches deep into that pe- 
riod of history, might safely plead the excuse 
of a learned writer, who had particularly stu- 

* Et Tid. Policratioon, rap. 8, &c. 
f Vid. Nicolson's Eng. Hist. Lib. &c 



XXVI 11 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



died the Ante-Norman historians. "Conjec- 
turis (licet nusquaui veriaimili fundamento), 
aliquoties indulgemus . . . utpote ah Histori- 
cis jejune nimis et indiligenter res nostras 
tractantibus coacti . . . Nostri . . . nudfi fac- 
torum commemoratione plerumque contend, 
reliqua omnia, sive ob ipsarum rerum, sive 
meliorum literarum, she Ilistoricorum officii 
ignorantiara, fere intacta proetereunt." Vide 
plura in Praefat. ad /Elfr. Vitain a Spelman. 
Ox. 1G78, fol. 

(II) " Minstrels and Harpers."] That the 
Harp (Cithara) was the common musical in- 
strument of the Anglo-Saxons, might be in- 
ferred from the very word itself, which is not 
derived from the British, or any other Celtic 
language, hut of genuine Gothic original, and 
current among every branch of that people : 
viz. Ang. Sax. Heajlpe, Heappa. Iceland. 
Harpa, llaurpa. Dan. and Belg. Harpc. 
Germ. Harpffe, Earpffa. Gal. Harpe. Span. 
Harpa. Ital. Arpa [Vid. Jun. Etym.— Mo- 
nage Etym. &c] As also from this, that the 
word Heappe is constantly used in the 
Anglo-Saxon versions, to express the Latin 
words Cithara, Lyra, and even Cymbalum : 
the word Psalmus itself being sometimes 
translated Heapp pan y, harp song. [Gloss. 
Jun. R. apud Lye Anglo-Sax. Lexic] 

But the fact itself is positcvely proved by 
the express testimony of Bede, who tells us 
that it was usual at festival meetings for this 
instrument to be handed round, and each of 
the company to sing to it in his turn. See 
his Hist. Eccles. Anglor. Lib 4, c. 24, where 
speaking of their sacred poet Ccedmon, who 
lived in the times of the Heptarchy (ob. circ. 
G80), he says: — 

" Nihil unquam frivoli et supervacui poe- 
matis facere potuit; sed ea tantummodo, quae 
ad religionem pertinent, religiosam ejus lin- 
guam decebaut. Siquidem in habitu saecu- 
lari, usque ad tempore provectioris aetatis 
constitutes, nil Carminum aliquando didice- 
rat. Unde nonnunquam in convivio, cum 
esset laetitiae causa decretum ut omnes per 
ordinem cantare deberent, i lie ubi appropin- 
quare sibi citharam cernebat, surgebat a 
media csena, et egressus, ad suam domum 
repedabat." 

I shall now subjoin King Alfred's own 
Anglo-Saxon translation of this passage, with 
a literal interlineary English version. 



"He . . naeppe noht leapunga. ne 

" He never no leadings, nor 

ibelep leobep pypcean ne mib.ee. ac 
idle songs compose ne might; but 

epne ba an ba be co aepepeneppe 
Vol only those things which to religion \ piety] 
belumpou. -] hip basepepcan cuujan 
belong, and his then pious tongue 

gebapenobe pingan : Waep be pe 
became losing: He was the [a] 

man in peopolb habe gepeceb ob ba 
man in worldly [secular] state set to the 
cibe be he pscp op gelypebpe ylbo. 
time in which he teas of an advanced age ; 
*] he neppe jenig leop geleopnobe. 
and lie never any song learned. 

"] he poppon ope in gebeoppcipe 
And he therefore oft in an entertainment 
bonne beep, peep bhppe incinga 
when there was for merriment-sake adjudged 
gebemeb p hi ealle pceolban buph 
[or decreed] that they all should through 
enbebypbneppe be heappan pingan. 

their turns by [to the] . harp sing; 

bonne he gepeah ba heappan him 

when he saw the harp him 
nealaacean. bonne ajiap he pop pceome 

approach, then arose he for shame 
ppam bam pymle. *] ham eobe co 
from the supper, and home yodc [icent] to 
hip hnpe. 

his house. — Bed. Hist. Eccl. a Smith. Can- 
tab. 1722, fol. p. 597. 

In this version of Alfred's it is observa- 
ble, (1) that he has expressed the Latin word 
cantare, by the Anglo-Saxon words " be 
heappan pingan," sing to the harp ; as if 
they were synonymous, or as if his coun- 
trymen had no idea of singing unaccompa- 
nied with the Harp : (2) That when Bede 
simply says, surgebat a media catnd ; he as- 
signs a motive, "apap pop. pceome,'' 
arose for shame: that is, either from an aus- 
terity of manners, or from his being deficient 
in an accomplishment which so generally pre- 
vailed among his countrymen. 

(1) "The word Glee, which peculiarly de- 
noted their art," &c. This word Glee is de- 
rived from the Anglo-Saxon I1I133, [Gligg] 
Musica, Music, Miistrelsy (Somn). This is 
the common radix, whence arises such a va- 
riety of terms aud phrases relating to the 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



Minstrel Art, as affunis the strongest internal 
proof, that this profession was extremely 
common and popular here before the Norman 
Conquest. Thus we hav.e 

I. 

(I). Ehp, [Gliw] Mimns a Minstrel. 

Ehgman, gligmon, glinian [Gleeman,*] 
Hiitriu Mimus, Panlomimus ; all common 
names in middle Latinity for a Minstrel : and 
S.imner accordingly renders the original by a 
Minstrel; a Player on a Timbrel or Taber. 
He adds, a Fidler ; but although the Fythell 
or Fiddle was an ancient instrument, by 
which the Jogelar or Minstrel sometimes ac- 
companied his song (see Warton, i. 17), it is 
probable that Somner annexes here only a 
modern sense to the word, not having at all 
investigated the subject. 

Elimien, glugmen. [Glee-men]. Mis- 
triones Minstrels. Hence 

Eh 5 manna yppe. Orchestra \e\ Pulpi- 
tes. The place where the Minstrels exhibited 
their performances. 

(2). But their most proper and expressive 
name was 

Eliphleopjiienb. Musicus, a Minstrel; 
and 

Eliphleoppienblica. Musicus, Musical. 
These two words include the full idea of the 
Minstrel character, expressing at once their 
music a.nd singing, being compounded of 
Elip, Musicus, Mimus, a Musician, Minstrel, 
and Leo%, Carmen, a Song. 

(3). From the above word Erligg, the pro- 
fession itself was called 

Eligcpsept. [Glig or Glee-craft.] Mu- 



* Gleman continued to be the name given to a Minstrel 
both in England and Scotland almost as long as this order 
of men continued. 

In De Brunne's metrical version of Bishop Grosthead's 
Manuel de Pcche. A. D. 1303 (see Warton, i. 61), we have 
this, 

" Gode men, ye shall lere 

When ye any Gleman here." 
Fabyan Tin his Chronicle, 1533. f. 32), translating the 
passage from Geoffrey of Moumouth, quoted below in page 
28, Note (K). renders Deus Jocci-atorum. by God of Gle- 
men. (Warton's Hist. EDg. Poet. Diss. I.) Fabyan died 
in 1592. 

Dunbar, who lived in the same century, describing, in one 
of bis poems intituled '-The Daunce," what passed in the 
infernal regions "amaugis the Feyndis," says, 

"N:i Menstralls play it to thame. but dowt, 
For Gle-men thuire wer haidin, out, 
Be day and eke by nicht." 
Bee Poems from Bannatyre's MS. Edinb. 1770. 12mo. page 
130. Maitlaud's MS. at Cambridge reads hero, Glewe men. 



sica, Histrionia, Mimica, Gesficulatio : which 
Somner rightly gives in English, Minstrelsy, 
Mimical Gesticulation, Mummery. He also 
adds, Stage-playing ; but here again I think 
he substitutes an idea too modern, induced 
by the word Histrionia, which in Middle 
Latinity only signifies the Minstrel Art. 

However, it should seem that both mimical 
gesticulation and a kind of rude exhibition 
of characters were sometimes attempted by 
the old Minstrels. But 

(4). As Musical Performances was the 
leading idea, so 

Lhopian, Cantus musicos edere ; and 

Dligbeara, glipbeam. [Glig- or Glee- 
beam.] Tympanum; a Timbrel or Taber. (So 
Somn.) Hence 

Lrlypan. Tympanum pulsare ; and 

Dhp-rneben ; Eliy pienbe-maben 
[Glee-Maiden.] Tympanistria: which Somner 
renders a She-Minstrel ; for it should seem 
that they had Females of this profession ; one 
one name for which was also LVlypby be- 
ne pepa. 

(5). Of congenial derivation to the forego- 
ing, is 

Erlypc. [Glywc] Tibia, a Pipe or 
Flute. 

Both this and the common radix DI153, are 
with great appearance of truth derived by 
Junius from the Icelandic Gliggur, Flatus : 
as supposing the first attempts at music 
among our Gothic ancestors were from wind- 
instruments. Vid. Jun. Etym. Ang. V. Glee. 

II. 

But the Minstrels, as is hinted above, did 
not confine themselves to the mere exercise 
of their primary arts of Music and Song, but 
occasionally used many other modes of divert- 
ing. Hence, from the above root was derived, 
in a secondary sense, 

(1). Lrleo, and pmpum glip. Faceiice. 

Eileopian, jocari ; to jest or be merry 
(Somn.) ; and 

Erleopienb, jocans ; jesting, speaking 
merrily (Somn.). 

Erli^rnan also signified Jocista, a Jester. 
Eli^-.^amen [Glee-games], joci. Which 
Somner renders Merriments, or merry Jests, 
or trick, or Sports: Gamboles. 

(2). Hence, again, by a common metonymy 
of the cause for the effect, 

Lrhe, gaudium, alacritas, laztitia, facetiae ; 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



Joy, Mirth, Gladness, Cheerfulness, Glee. 
[Sumner.] Which last application of the 
word still continues, though rather in a low, 
debasing sense. 

III. 

But however agreeable and delightful the 
various arts of the Minstrels might be to the 
Anglo-Saxon laity, there is reason to believe 
that, before the Norman Conquest at least, 
they were not much favoured by the clergy ; 
particularly by those of monastic profession. 
Fur, not to mention that the sportive talents 
of these men would be considered by those 
austere ecclesiastics as tending to levity and 
licentiousness, the Pagan origin of their art 
would excite in the Monks an insuperable 
prej udice against it. The Anglo-Saxon Harp- 
ers and Gleemen were the immediate suc- 
cessors and imitators of the Scandinavian 
Scalds ; who were the great promoters of 
Pagan superstition, and fomented that spirit 
of cruelty and outrage in their countrymen, 
the Danes, which fell with such peculiar 
severity on the religious and their convents. — 
Hence arose a third application of words de- 
rived from Tjhgg, Minstrelsy, in a very un- 
favourable sense, and this chiefly prevails in 
books of religion and ecclesiastic discipline. 
Thus, 

(1). IrliT is Liidibrium, laughing to scorn.* 
So in S. Basil. Regul. 11, Hi haepbon him 
co glige halpenbe minegunge. Ludri- 
brio habebant salutarem ejus admonilionem. 

(10). This sense of the word was perhaps 

not ill founded ; for as the sport of rude un- 
cultivated minds often arises from ridicule, 
it is not improbable but the old Minstrels 
often indulged a vein of this sort, and that 
of no very delicate kind. So again, 

Dlig-man was also used to signify Scurra, 
a " Saucy Jester." (Somn.) 

Dlig-geojin. Dicax, Scurriles jocos supra 
qudm par est amans. Officium Episcopale, 3. 

Efhpian. Scurrilibus oblectamenlis indul- 
gerc; Scurram agere. Canon. Edgar, 58. 

(2). Again, as the various attempts to 
please, practised by an order of men who 
owed their support to the public favour, 
might be considered by those grave censors 
as mean and debasing : Hence came from 
the samp root, 

* To gleck, is used in Shakspeare, for "to make sport, 
to jest," Ac 



Erlipeji. Parasitus, Assentator ; "A 
Fawner, a Togger, a Parasite, a Flatterer.* 
(Somn.) 

IV. 

To return to the Anglo-Saxon word Tj 1 1 g g ; 
notwithstanding the various secondary senses 
in which this word (as we have seen above) 
was so early applied ; yet 

The derivative Glee (though now chiefly 
used to express Merriment and Joy) long 
retained its first simple meaning, and is even 
applied by Chaucer to signify Music and 
Minstrelsy. (Vid. Jun. Etym.) E. g. 

" For though that the best harper upon live 
Would on the beste sounid jolly harpe 
That evir was, with all his fingers five 
Touch aie string, or aie warble harpe, 
Were his nailes poincted nevir so sharpe 
It shoulde makin every wight to dull 
To heare is glee, and of his strokes ful." 
Troyl. lib. ii. 1030. 

Junius interprets Glees by Musica Instru- 
mental in the following passages of Chaucer's 
Third Boke of Fame : 

' . . Stoden . . the castell all aboutin 
Of all maner of Mynstrales 
And Jestours that tellen tales 
Both of wepyng and of game, 
And of all that longeth unto fame ; 
There herde I play on a harpe 
That sowned both well and sharpe 
Hym Orpheus full craftily ; 
And on this syde fast by 
Sate the harper Orion ; 
And Eacides Chirion ; 
And other harpers many one, 
And the Briton Glaskyrion. 

After mentioning these, the great masters 
of the art, he proceeds: 

* The preceding list of Anglo-Saxon works, so full and 
copious beyond anything that ever yet appeared in print on 
this subject, was extracted from Mr. Lye's curious Anglo- 
Saxon Lexicon, in MS., but the arrangement here is the 
Editor's own. It had however received the sanction of Mr. 
Lye's approbation, and would doubtless have been received 
into his printed copy had he lived to publish it himself. 

It should also be observed, for the sake of future re- 
searches, that without the assistance of the old English 
Interpretations given by Somner, in his Anglo-Saxon Dic- 
tionary, the Editor of this book never could have discovered 
that Glee signified " Minstrelsy," or Gliguian a " Minstrel.' 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



: And small Harpers with her Glees 
Sat under them in divers sees." 



Again, a little below, the poet, having enu- 
merated the performers on all the different 
sorts of instruments, adds : 

" There sawe I syt in other sees 
Playing upon other sundry Glees, 
Which that I cannot neven* 
More than starres ben in heven, &c. 

Upon the above lines I shall only make a 
few observations : 

(1). That by Jestours, I suppose we are to 
understand Gestours ; scil. the relaters of 
Gests (Lat. Gesta), or stories of adventures 
both comic and tragical ; whether true or 
feigned ; I am inclined to add, whether in 
prose or verse. (Compare the record below, 
in marginal note subjoined to (V) 2.) Of the 
stories in prose, I conceive we have specimens 
in that singular book the Gesta Eomanorum, 
and this will account for its seemingly im- 
proper title. These were evidently what the 
French called Conteours, or Story-tellers, and 
to them we are probably indebted for the first 
Prose Romances of chivalry : which may be 
considered as specimens of their manner. 

(2). That the "Briton Glaskeryon," who- 
ever he was, is apparently the same person 
with our famous Harper Glasgerion, of whom 
the reader will find a tragical ballad, at page 

206. In that song may be seen an instance 

of what was advanced above in note (E), of 
the dignity of the minstrel profession, or at 
least of the artifice with which the Minstrels 
endeavoured to set off its importance. 

Thus, " a king's son is represented as 
appearing in the character of a Harper or 
Minstrel in the court of another king. He 
wears a collar (or gold chain) as a person of 
illustrious rank ; rides on horseback, and is 
admitted to the embraces of a king's daugh- 
ter." 

The Minstrels lost no opportunity of doing 
honour to their art. 

(3). As for the word Glees, it is to this day 
used in a musical sense, and applied to a 
peculiar piece of composition. Who has not 



* Neven, i. e. name. 



seen the advertisements proposing a reward 
to him who should produce the best Catch, 
Canon, or Glee? 

(K) "Comes from the pen of Geoffrey of 
Monmouth."] Geoffrey's own words are, 
"Cum ergo alterius modi aditum [Boldolphus] 
non haberet, rasit capillos suos et barbam,* 
cultumque Joculatoris cum Cythara fecit. 
Deinde intra castra deambulans, modulis quos 
in Lyra componebat, sese Cytharistam exhi- 
bebat." Galf. Monum. Hist., 4to., 1508, lib. 
vii. c. 1. — That Joculator signifies precisely a 
Minstrel appears not only from this passage, 
where it is used as a word of like import to 
Ciiharista or Harper (which was the old 
English word for Minstrel), but also from 
another passage of the same author, where 
it is applied as equivalent to Cantor. See 
lib. i. cap. 22, where, speaking of an ancient 
(perhaps fabulous) British king, he says, 
" Hie omnes Cantores quos praecedens aetas 
habuerat et in modulis et in omnibus musicis 
instruments excedebat: ita ut Deus Jocula- 

torum videretur." Whatever credit is due 

to Geoffrey as a relater of Facts, he is cer- 
tainly as good authority as any for the signi- 
fication of Words. 

(L)"Two remarkable facts."] Both of 
these facts are recorded by William of 
Malmesbury ; and the first of them, relating 
to Alfred, by Ingulphus also. Now Ingul- 
phus (afterwards Abbot of Croyland) was 
near forty years of age at the time of the 
Conquest,f and consequently was as proper 
judge of the Saxon manners, as if he had 



* Geoffrey of Monmouth is probably here describing the 
appearance of the JocitJatores or Minstrels, as it was in his 
own time. For they apparently derived this part of their 
dress, &c, from the Mivii of the ancient Romans, who had 
their heads and beards shaven : (see above, p. xx. note J,) 
as they likewise did the mimicry, and other arts of divert- 
ing, which they superadded to the composing and singing to 
the harp heroic songs, &c, which they inherited from their 
own progenitors the bards and scalds of the ancient Celtic 
and Gothic nations. The Longobardi had, like other nor- 
thern people, brought these with them into Italy. For in 
the year 774, when Charlemagne entered Italy and found 
his passage impeded, he was met by a Minstrel of Lombardy, 
whose song promised him success and victory. " Contigit 
Joculatorem ex Longobardorum, geute ad Carolum venire, 
et Cantiunculam a se coMrosrrAM, rotando in conspectu 
suorum cantare." Tom. ii. p. 2, Chron. Monast. Noval. 
lib. iii. cap. x. p. 717. (T. Warton's Hist. vol. ii. Emend, 
of vol. i. p. 113.) 

t Natus 1030, scripsit 1091, obiit 1109. Tanner. 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



actually written his history before that 
event; he is therefore to be considered as 
an Ante-Norman writer: so that whether the 
fact concerning Alfred be true or not, we are 
assured from his testimony, that the Jocn- 
lator or Minstrel was a common character 
among the Anglo-Saxons. The same also 
maybe inferred from the relation of William 
of Malmesbury, who outlived Ingulphus but 
thirty-three years.* Both these writers had 
doubtless recourse to innumerable records 
and authentic memorials of the Anglo-Saxon 
times which never descended down to us ; 
their testimony therefore is too positive and 
full to be overturned by the mere silence of 
the two or three slight Anglo-Saxon epitomes 
that are now remaining. Vid. note (G). 

As for Asser Menevensis, who has given a 
somewhat more particular detail of Alfred's 
actions, and yet takes no notice of the follow- 
ing story, it will not be difficult to account 
for his silence, if we consider that he was a 
rigid Monk, and that the Minstrels, however 
acceptable to the laity, were never much 
respected by men of the more strict monastic 
profession, especially before the Norman 
Conquest, when they would be considered as 
brethren of the Pagan Scalds.f Asser there- 
fore might not regard Alfred's skill in Min- 
strelsy in a very favourable light ; and might 
be induced to drop the circumstance related 
below, as reflecting, in his opinion, no great 
honour on his patron. 

The learned editor of Alfred's Life, in 
Latin, after having examined the scene of 
action in person, and weighed all the circum- 
stances of the event, determines, from the 
whole collective evidence, that Alfred could 
never have gained the victory he did if he 
had not with his own eyes previously seen 
the disposition of the enemy by such a strata- 
gem as is here described. Yid. Annot. in 
iElfr. Mag. Yitam, p. 33, Oxon. 1678, fol. 

(M) "Alfred .... assumed the dress and 
character of a ' Minstrel.' "] " Fingens se 
Joculatorem, assumpta cithara," &c. In- 
gulpi Hist. p. 809. — " Sub specie mimi . . . ut 
Jocutatorle professor artis." Gul. Malmesb. 

* Obiit anno 1142. Tanner. 

■f (See above, p. xxx.) Both Ingulph. and Will, of Mal- 
mesb. had been very conversant among the Normans, who 
appear not to hare had such prejudices against the Minstrels 
as the Anglo-Saxons had. 



1. ii. c. 4, p. 43. That both Joculator and 
Mi nuts signify literally, a Minstrel, see proved 
in notes (B), (K), (N), (Q), &c. See also 
note (G g). 

Malmesbury adds, " Unius tantum fidelis- 
simi fruebatur conscientia." As this con- 
fidant dues not appear to have assumed the 
disguise of a Minstrel himself, I conclude 
that he only appeared as the Minstrel's at- 
tendant. Now that the Minstrel had some- 
times his servant or attendant to carry his 
harp, and even to sing to his music, we have 
many instances in the old Metrical Romances, 
and even some in this present collection : See 
Series the First, Songvi.; Scries the Third, 
Song v i i . , &c. Among the French and Pro- 
vencal Bards, the Trouverre, or Inventor, was 
generally attended with his finger, who some- 
times also played on the harp, or other mu- 
sical instrument. " Quelque fois durant le 
repas d'un prince on voyoit arriver un Trou- 
verre inconnu avec ses Menestrels ou Jon- 
gleours, et il lour faisoit chanter sur leurs 
harpes ou vielles les vers qu'il avoit composes. 
Ceux qui faisoient les Sons aussi bien que les 
Mots 6toient les plus estimes." Fontenelle 
Hist, du Theatr. 

That Alfred excelled in Music is positively 
asserted by Bale, who doubtless had it from 
some ancient MS., many of which subsisted 
in his time that are now lost: as also by Sir 
J. Spelman, who, we may conclude, had good 
authority for this anecdote, as he is known to 
have compiled his life of Alfred from authen- 
tic materials collected by his learned father: 
this writer informs us that Alfred "provided 
himself of musitians, not common, or such 
as knew but the practick part, but men skil- 
ful in the art itself, whose skill and service 
he yet further improved with his own instruc- 
tion :" p. 199. This proves Alfred at least 
to have understood the theory of music ; and 
how could this have been acquired without 
practising on some instrument? which we 
have seen above, note (II), was so extremely 
common with the Anglo-Saxons, even in 
much ruder times, that Alfred himself plainly 
tells us, it was shameful to be ignorant of it. 
And this commonness might be one reason 
why Asser did not think it of consequence 
enough to be particularly mentioned in his 
short life of that great monarch. This rigid 
Monk may also have esteemed it a slight and 
frivolous accomplishment, savouring only of 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



worldly vanity. He has however particularly 
recorded Alfred's fondness for the oral Anglo- 
Saxon poems and songs. [Saxonica poemata 
die nocteque .... audiens .... memorita 
retinebat:" p. 16. " Carmina Saxonica me- 
moriter discere," &c: p. 43, et ib.] Now the 
poems learnt by rote, among all ancient un- 
polished nations, are ever songs chanted by 
the reciter, and accompanied with instru- 
mental melody.* 

(N) " With his harp in his hand, and 
dressed like a Minstrel."] " Assumpta, manu 
cithara .... professus Mimum, qui hujus- 
modi arte stipem quotidianam mercaretur . . . 
Jussus abire pretium Cantus accepit:" 
Malmesb. 1. ii. c. 6. "We see here that 
which was rewarded was (not any mimicry 
or tricks, but) his singing ( Cantus) ; this 
proves, beyond dispute, what was the nature 
of the entertainment Aulaff afforded them. 
Perhaps it is needless by this time to prove 
to the reader, that Mimus in Middle Latinity 
signifies a Minstrel, and Mimia, Minstrelsy, 
or the Minstrel-art. Should he doubt it, let 
him cast his eye over the two following 
extracts from Du Cange : 

" Mimus : Musicus, qui instruments mu- 
sicis canit. Leges Palatinos Jacobi II. Reg. 
Majoric. In domibus principum, ut tradit 
antiquitas, Mimi seu Joculatores licite pos- 
sunt esse. Nam illorum officium tribuit 
lsetitiam .... Quapropter volumus et ordi- 
namus, quod in nostra curia Mimi debeant 
esse quinque, quorum duo sint tubicinatores, 
et tertius sit tabelerius [i. e. a player on the 
tabor] .f Lit. remiss, ann. 1374. Ad Mimos 
cornicitantes, seu bucinantes accesserunt." 



* Thus Leob, the Saxon word for a Poem, is properly a 
song, and its derivative Lied signifies a ballad to this day 
in the German tongue : and C'antare, we have seen above, 
is by Alfred himself rendered Be heanpan ring 30 - 

-f- The Tabour or Tabourin was a common instrument 
with the French Minstrels, as it had also been with the 
Anglo-Saxon (vid. p. lxix.) : thus in an ancient Freueh MS. 
in the Harl. collection (2253, 75), a Minstrel is described 
as riding on horseback and bearing his Tabour. 
" En tour son col porta son Tabour, 
Depeynt de Or, e riche Aeour." 
See also a passage in Menage's Diction. Etym. [v. Menes- 
triers], where Tabaurs is used as synonymous to Menestriers. 

Another frequent instrument with them was the Viele. 
This, I am told, is the name of an instrument at this day. 
which differs from a guitar, in that the player turns round 
a handle at the top of the instrument, and with his other 
hand plays on some keys that touch the chords and produce 
the sound. 

See Dr. Burney's account of the "Vielle, vol. ii. p. 263, 



Mimia, Ludus Mimicus, Instrumentum. 
[potius, Ars Joculatoria.] Ann. 1482 .... 
" mimia et cantu victum acquiro." 

Du Cange, Gloss, torn. iv. 1762. Supp. c. 
1225. 

(0) " To havebeen a Dane."] The northern 
historians produce such instances of the great 
respect shown to the Danish Scalds in the 
courts of our Anglo-Saxon kings, on account 
of their musical and poetic talents (notwith- 
standing they were of so hateful a nation), 
that if a similar order of men had not existed 
here before, we cannot doubt but the profes- 
sion would have been taken up by such of 
the natives as had a genius for poetry and 
music. 

" Extant Rhythmi hoc ipso [Islandico] 
idiomate Angliae, Hyberniaeque Regibus 
oblati et liberaliter compensati, &c. Itaque 
hinc colligi potest linguam Danicam in aulis 
vicinorum regum, principumque familiarem 
fuisse, non secus ac hodie in aulus principum 
peregrina idiomata in deliciis haberi cerni- 
mus. Imprimis Vita Egilli Skallagrimii id 
invicto argumento adstruit. Quippe qui in- 
terrogatus ab Adalsteino, Anglias rege, quo- 
modo manus Eirici Blodoxii, Northumbrije 
regis, postquam in ejus potestatem venerat, 
evasisset, cujus filium propinquosque occi- 
derat . . . . rei statim or din em metro, nunc 
satis obscuro, exposuit nequaquam ita narra- 
turus non intelligenti." [Yid. plura apud 
Torfaeii Prsefat. ad Oread. Hist, fob] 

This same Egill was no less distinguished 
for his valour and skill as a soldier, than for 
his poetic and singing talents as a Scald ; 
and he was such a favourite with our king 
Athelstan, that he at one time presented him 
with " duobus annulis et scriniis, duobus 
bene magnis argento repletis .... Quinetiam 
hoc addidit, ut Egillus quidvis praeterea a se 
petens, obtineret; bona mobilia, sive immo- 
bilia, praebendam vel prasfecturas. Egillus 
porro regiam munificentiam gratus excipiens, 
Carmen Encomiasticon, a se lingua Norve- 
gicfi, (quae turn his regnis communis) com- 
positum, regi dicat ; ac pro eo, duas marcas 
auri puri (pondus marcae ... 8 uncias aequa- 

who thinks it the same with the Bote, or wheel. See page 
270 in the note. 

"II ot un .Tougleor a sens, 
Qui navoit pas sovent robe entiere; 
Sovent estoit sans sa Viele." 

Fabliaux et Cont. ii. 184, 6. 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



bat) honorarii loco retulit." [Arngr. Jon. 
Rer. Islandic. lib. ii. p. 129.] 

See more of Egill, in the " Five Pieces of 
Runic Poetry," p. 45, whose poem, there 
translated, is the most ancient piece all in 
rhyme, that is, I conceive, now to be found in 
any European language, except Latin. See 
Egill's Islandic original, printed at the end 
of the English Version in the said Five 
Pieces, &c. 

(P) " If the Saxons had not been accus- 
tomed to have Minstrels of their own .... 
and to show favour and respect to the Danish 
Scalds"] ; if this had not been the case, we 
may be assured, at least, that the stories 
given in the text could never have been 
recorded by writers who lived so near the 
Anglo-Saxon times as Malmesbury and In- 
gulphus, who, though they might be deceived 
as to particular facts, could not be so as to 
the general manners and customs which pre- 
vailed so near their own times among their 
ancestors. 

(Q) " In Doomesday Book," &c] Extract 
ex Libro Domesday: Et vid. Anstis Ord. 

Gart. ii. 304. 

Glowecestesceire. 

Fol. 162. Col. 1. Berdic Joculator Regis 

liabet iii. villas, et ibi v. car. nil redd. 

That Joculator is properly a Minstrel, might 
be inferred from the two foregoing passages 
of Geoffrey of Monmouth (v. note K), where 
the word is used as equivalent to Citharista 
in one place, and to Cantor in the other : this 
union forms the precise idea of the character. 

But more positive proofs have already 
offered, vid. supra, p. xxv., xxxii., xxxiii., note. 
See also Du Cange's Gloss, vol. iii. c. 1543. 
" Jogulator pro Joculator. — Consilium Masil. 
an. 1381. Nullus Ministreys, Jogulator, 
audeat pinsare vel sonare instrumentum cu- 
juscumque generis," &c, &c. 

As the Minstrel was termed in French Jon- 
gleur and Jugleur: so he was called in Spanish 
Jutglar and Juglar. " Tenemos canciones y 
versos para recitar muy antiguos y memorias 
ciertas de los Juglares, que assistian en los 
banquetes, como los que pinta Homero." 
Prolog, a las Corned, de Cervantes, 1749, 4to. 

" El anno 1328, en las siestas de la Coro- 
nacion del Rey, Don Alonso el IV. de Ara- 



* " Romanset Jutglar canta alt veux .... devant lo 
eenyor Rey." ChroD. d'Ara^on, apud Du Cange, iy. 771. 



gon .... * el Juglar Ramaset canto" una 
Villanesca de la Composicion del .... infante 
[Don Pedro] y otro Juglar, llamado Novellet, 
recito y represents en voz y sin can tar mas 
de GOO versos, que hizo el Infante en el metro 
que llamaban Rima Vulgar." Ibid. 

" Los Trobadores inventaron la Gaya Cien- 
cia . . . . estos Trobadores eran casi todos de 

la prim era Nobleza. Es verdad, que ya 

entonces se havian entrometida entre las 
diversiones Cortesanos, los Contadores, los 
Cantores, los Juglares, los Truanez, y los 
Bufones." Ibid. 

In England the King's Juglar continued 
to have an establishment in the royal house- 
hold down to the reign of Henry VIII. [vid. 
Note (C c) ]. But in what sense the title was 
there applied does not appear. In Barklay's 
Egloges, written circ. 1514, Juglers and Pipers 
are mentioned together. Egl. iv. (vid. T. 
Warton's Hist. ii. 254). 

(R) "A valiant warrior, named Taillefer," 
&c] See Du Cange, who produces this as 
an instance, "Quod Ministellorum munus 
interdum prsestabant milites probatissimi. 
Le Roman De Vacce, MS. 

" Quant il virent Normanz venir 
Mout veissiez Engleiz fremir .... 
Taillefer qui mout bien chantoit, 
Sur un cheval, qui tost alloit, 
Devant euls aloit chantant 
De Kallemaigne et de Roullant, 
Et d'Olivier de Vassaux, 
Qui moururent en Rainschevaux. 

" Qui quidem Taillefer a Gulielmo obtinuit ut 
primus in hostes irrueret, inter quos fortiter 
dimicando occubuit." Gloss, torn. iv. 769, 
770, 771. 

" Les anciennes chroniques nous appren- 
nent, qu'en premier rang de FArm6e Nor- 
mande, un ecuyer nomine Taillefer, mont6 
sur un cheval arm6, chanta la Chanson de 
Roland, qui fut si long tems dans les bouches 
des Franqois, sans qu'il soit reste le moindre 
fragment. Le Taillefer apres avoir entonn6 
la chanson que les soldats repetoient, se jetta 
le premier parmi les Anglois, et fut tu6." 
[Voltaire Add. Hist. Univ. p. 69.] 

The reader will see an attempt to restore 
the Chanson de Roland, with musical notes, 
in Dr. Burney's Hist. ii. p. 276. — See more 
concerning the Song of Roland, Series the 
Third, p. 189. Note (m). 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



(S) "An eminent French writer," &c] 
" M. l'Eveque de la Ravaliere, qui avoit fait 
beaucoup de recherches sur nos anciennes 
Chansons, pretend que c'est a la Normandie 
que nous devons nos premiers Chansonniers, 
non a la Provence, et qu'il y avoit parmi nous 
des Chansons en langue vulgaire avant celles 
de Provencaus, mais posterieurement au 
Regne Phillippe I., ou a Tan 1100." [v. 
Revolutions de la Langue Franchise, i\ la 
suite des Poesies du Roi de Navarre.] " Ce 
seroit une anteriority de plus d'une demi 
eiecle a, l'epoque des premiers Troubadours, 
que leur historien Jean de Nostre-dame fixe 
a Fan 1162," &c. Pref. a FAnthologie Franc. 
8vo. 1765. 

This subject hath since been taken up and 
prosecuted at length in the Prefaces, &c, to 
M. Le Grand's " Fabliaux ou Contes du xne 
et du xine Siecle, Paris, 1788," 5 torn. 12mo., 
who seems pretty clearly to have established 
the priority and superior excellence of the 
old Rimeurs of the North of France over the 
Troubadours of Provence, &c. 

(S 2) " Their own native Gleemen or Min- 
strels must be allowed to exist."] Of this 
we have proof positive in the old metrical 
Romance of Horn-Child (Series the Third, 
No. 1, p. 192), which although from the 
mention of Sarazens, &c, it must have been 
written at least after the first crusade in 1096, 
yet, from its Anglo-Saxon language or idiom, 
can scarce be dated later than within a cen- 
tury after the Conquest. This, as appears 
from its very exordium, was intended to be 
sung to a popular audience, whether it was 
composed by, or for a Gleeman or Minstrel. 
But it carries all the internal marks of being 
the production of such a composer. It 
appears of genuine English growth ; for, 
after a careful examination, I cannot discover 
any allusion to French or Norman customs, 
manners, composition, or phraseology: no 
quotation, "As the Romance sayth:" not a 
name or local reference, which was likely to 
occur to a French Rimeur. The proper names 
are all of northern extraction : Child Horn is 
the son of All of (i. e, Olaf or Olave), king of 
Sudenne (I suppose Sweden), by his Queen 
Godylde or Godylt. Athulf and Fykenyld are 
the names of subjects. Eylmer or Aylmere is 
king of Westnesse (a part of Ireland), Ryme- 
nyld is his daughter; as Enninyld is of an- 



other king Tlmrsian; whose sons are Athyld 
and Beryld. Athelbrus is steward of king 
Aylmer, &c, &c. All these savour only of a 
Northern origin, and the whole piece is 
exactly such a performance as one would 
expect from a Gleeman or Minstrel of the 
North of England, who had derived his art 
and his ideas from his Scaldic predecessors 
there. So that this probably is the original 
from which was translated the old French 
fragment of Dan Horn, in the Harleyan MS. 
527. mentioned by Tyrwhitt (Chaucer iv. 68), 
and by T. Warton (Hist. i. 38), whose extract 
from Horn-Child is extremely incorrect. 

Compare the style of Child-Horn with the 
Anglo-Saxon specimens in short verses and 
rhyme, which are assigned to the century 
succeeding the Conquest, in Hickes's The- 
saurus, torn. i. cap. 24, p. 224 and 231. 

(T) " The different production of the se- 
dentary composer and the rambling Min- 
strel."] Among the old metrical romances, 
a very few are addressed to readers, or men- 
tion reading: these appear to have been 
composed by writers at their desk, and ex- 
hibit marks of more elaborate structure and 
invention. Such is Eglamour of Arias (Se- 
ries the Third, No. 20, p. 194), of which I 
find in a MS. copy in the Cotton Library, A 
2, folio 3, the II Fitte thus concludes : 

" . . . . thus ferr have I red." 

Such is Ipomydon (Series the Third, No. 
23, p. 195), of which one of the divisions 
(Sign. E. ii. b. in pr. copy) ends thus, 

" Let hym go, God hym spede, 
Tyll efte-soone we of him reed" [i. e. read]. 

So in Amys and Amylion* (Series the 
Third, No. 31, p. 195), in sta. 3d we have, 

" In Geste as we rede ;" 



* It ought to have heen observed in its proper place in 
Series the Third, No. 31, p. 195, that Amys and Amylicm were 
no otherwise " Brothers," than as being fast friends : as was 
suggested by the learned Dr. Samuel Pegge, who was so 
obliging as to favour the Essayist formerly with a curious 
transcript of this poem accompanied with valuable illustra- 
tions. &c. ; and that it was his opinion that both the fragment 
of the " Lady Bellesnt," mentioned in the same No. 31, and 
also the mutilated Tale, No. 37 (p. 371, were only imperfect 
copies of the above romance of li Amys and Amy lion," 
which contains the two lines quoted in No. 37. 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



and similar phrases occur in stanzas 34, 125, 
140, 190, &c. 

These are all studied compositions, in which 
the story is invented with more skill and 
ingenuity, and the style and colouring are 
of superior cast to such as can with sufficient 
probability be attributed to the minstrels 
themselves. 

Of this class, I conceive the romance of 
Horn-Child (mentioned in the last note (S 2) 
and in Series the Third, No. 192, p. 2), which, 
from the naked unadorned simplicity of the 
story, I would attribute to such an origin. 

But more evidently is such the Squire 
of Low Degree (Series the Third, No. 24, 
p. ), in which is no reference to any 
French original, nothing like the phrase, 
which so frequently occurs in others, "As the 
romance sayth,"* or the like. And it is just 
such a rambling performance as one would 
expect from an itinerant Bard. And 

Such also is A lytell Geste of Robyn Hode, 
&c, in 8 Fyttes, of which are extant two 
editions, 4to., in black-letter, described more 
fully in page 80 of this work. This is not 
only of undoubted English growth, but, from 
the constant satire aimed at abbots and their 
convents, &c, could not possibly have been 
composed by any monk in his cell. 

Other instances might be produced; but 
especially of the former kind is Syr Launfal 
(Series the Third, No. 2, p. 315), the 121st 
of which has 

" In romances as we rede." 

This is one of the best invented stories of 
that kind, and I believe the only one in which 
is inserted the name of the author. 



* Wherever the word romance occurs jn these metrical 
narratives, it hath been thought to afford decisive proof of 
a translation from the romance or French language. Ac- 
cordingly it is so urged by T. Warton (i. 146, note) from 
two passages in the pr. copy of " Sir Eglamour," viz., Sign. 
E. i. 

In romaunce as we rede. 
Again in fol. ult. 

In romaunce this cronycle is. 
But in the Cotton MS. of the original the first passage is 

As I herde a Clerke rede. 
And the other thus, 

In Home this Gest cronycled ys. 
So that I bc-lieve references to '• the Romaunce," or the like, 
were niton mere expletive phrases inserted by the oral 
reciters; one of whom I conceive had altered or corrupted 
the old " Syr Eglamour," in the manner that the copy was 
printed. 



(T 2) " Royer or Raherus the King's Min- 
strel."] He is recorded by Lcland under 
both these names, in his Collectanea, scil. 
vol. 1, p. 61. 

"Hospitale S. Barlholomcci in West Smith- 
felde in London. 
" Royer Mimus Regis fundator." 

" Hosp. Sti. Barthol. Londini. 
" Raherus Mimus Regis H. 1, primus funda- 
tor, an. 1102, 3 H. 1, qui fundavit etiam 
Priorat. Sti. Barthol." Ibid, page 99. 

That Mimus is properly a Minstrel in the 
sense affixed to the word in this essay, one 
extract from the accounts [Lat. Computis] 
of the Priory of Maxtock, near Coventry, in 
1441, will sufficiently show. — Scil. •' Bat. Sex. 
Mimus Bni. Clynton cantantibus, citharisan- 
tibus, ludentibus," &c, iiiis. (T. Warton, ii. 
106, note q.) The same year, the prior gave 
to a doctor prcedicans, for a sermon preached 
to them, only 6d. 

In the Monasticon, torn. ii. p. 166, 167, is 
a curious history of the founder of this 
priory, and the cause of its erection ; which 
seems exactly such a composition as one of 
those which were manufactured by Br. Stone, 
the famous legend-maker, in 1380 (see T. 
Warton's curious account of him, in vol. ii. 
p. 190, note) ; who required no materials to 
assist him in composing his Narratives, &c, 
for in this legend are no particulars given 
of the founder, but a recital of miraculous 
visions exciting him to this pious work, of its 
having been before revealed to King Edward 
the Confessor, and predicted by three Gre- 
cians, &c. Even his minstrel profession is 
not mentioned, whether from ignorance or 
design, as the profession was, perhaps, falling 
into discredit when this legend was written. 
There is only a general indistinct account 
that he frequented royal and noble houses, 
where he ingratiated himself suavitate jocu- 
lari. (This last is the only word that seems 
to have any appropriated meaning.) This 
will account for the indistinct incoherent 
account given by Stow. " Rahere, a pleasant- 
witted gentleman, and therefore, in his time, 
called the King's Minstrel." — Survey of Lond. 
Ed. 1598, p. 308. 

(U) " In the early times, every harper 
was expected to sing."] See on this subject 
King Alfred's version of Csedmon, above in 
note (II), page xxviii. 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



So in Horn-Child, King AUof orders his 
steward Athelbrus to 

" teche him of harpe and of song." 

In the Squire of Lowe Degree, the king 
offers to his daughter, 

"Ye shall have harpe, sautry,* and song." 

And Chaucer, in his description of the 
Limitour or Mendicant Friar, speaks of harp- 
ing as inseparable from singing (i. p. 11, ver. 

268). 

" in his harping, whan that he hadde 

songe." 

(U 2) "As the most accomplished," &c] 
See Hoveden, p. 103, in the following passage, 
which had erroneously been applied to King 
Ri-;hard himself, till Mr. Tyrwbitt (Chaucer, 
iv. p. 62) showed it to belong to his Chan- 
cellor. " Hie ad augmentum et famam sui 
nominis, emendicata carmina, et rhythmos 
adulatorios comparabat ; et de regno Franco- 
rum Cantores et Joculatores muneribus allex- 
erat, ut de illo canerent in plateis et jam 
dicebatur ubique, quod non erat talis in 
orbe." For other particulars relating to this 
Chancellor, see T. Warton's Hist. vol. ii. 
Addit. to p. 113 of vol. i. 

(U 3) " Both the Norman and English 
languages would be heard at the houses of 
the great."] A remarkable proof of this is, 
that the most diligent inquirers after ancient 
English rhymes find the earliest they can 
discover in the mouths of the Norman nobles. 
Such as that of Robert, Earl of Leicester, 
and his Flemings in 1173, temp. Hen. II. 
(little more than a century after the Con- 
quest) recorded by Lambarde in his Diction- 
ary of England, p. 36. 

" Hoppe Wyliken, hoppe Wyliken 
Ingland is thine and myne, &c. 



* The Harp (Lat. Cithara) differed from the Sautry, or 
Fsaltry (Lat. Psalterium) in that the former was a stringed 
instrument, and the latter was mounted with wire: there 
was also some difference in the construction of the bellies, 
&c. See " Bartholonueus de proprietatibus rerum," as 
Englished by Trevisa and Eatnian, ed. 15S4, in Sir J. Haw- 
kins' Hist. ii. p. 285. 



And that noted boast of Hugh Bigot, Earl 
of Norfolk, in the same reign of King Henry 
II., vid Camdeni Britannia (art. Suffolk), 1607, 
folio. 

" Were I in my castle of Bungey 
Vpon the riuer of Waueney 
I would ne care for the king of Cockeney. 

Indeed, many of our old metrical romances, 
whether originally English, or translated 
from the French to be sung to an English 
audience, are addressed to persons of high 
rank, as appears from their beginning thus — 

"Listen, lordings," and the like. These 

were prior to the time of Chaucer, as appears 
from vol. iii. p. 190, et seqq. And yet to his 
time our Norman nobles are supposed to have 
adhered to their French language. 

(V) " That intercommunity, &c, between 
the French and English minstrels," &c] This 
might perhaps, in a great measure, be referred 
even to the Norman Conquest, when the vic- 
tors brought with them all their original opi- 
nions and fables ; which could not fail to be 
adopted by the English Minstrels and others 
who solicited their favour. This interchange, 
&c, between the Minstrels of the two nations 
would be afterwards promoted by the great 
intercourse produced among all the nations 
of Christendom in the general crusades, and 
by that spirit of chivalry which led knights, 
and their attendants, the heralds, and min- 
strels, &c, to ramble about continually from 
one court to- another, in order to be present 
at solemn tournaments, and other feats of 
arms. 

(V 2) " Is not the only instance," &c] The 
constant admission granted to minstrels was 
so established a privilege, that it became a 
ready expedient to writers of fiction. Thus, 
in the old romance of Horn-Child, the Prin- 
cess Rymenyld being confined in an inacces- 
sible castle, the prince, her lover, and some 
assistant knights, with concealed arms, as- 
sume the minstrel character, and approaching 
the castle with their " Gleyinge" or Min- 
strelsy, are heard by the lord of it, who being 
informed they were " harpeirs, jogelers, and 
fythelers,"* has them admitted, when 



* Jogeler (Lat. Joculator) was a very ancient name for 
a Minstrel. Of what nature the performance of the Jocu- 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



Horn sette him abenche [i. e. on a bench.] 
Is [i. e. his] harpe he gan clenche 
He made Rymenild a lay. 

This sets the princess a weeping, and leads 
to the catastrophe ; for he immediately ad- 
vances to " the borde," or table, kills the 
ravisher, and releases the lady. 

(V 3) . . "assumed the dress and charac- 
ter of a harper, &c."] "We have this curious 
Jiisto-riette in the records of Lacock Nunnery, 
in Wiltshire, which had been founded by 
this Countess of Salisbury. See Vincent's 
Discovery of Errors in Brooke's Catalogue of 
Nobility, &c, folio, page 445-6, &c. Take 
the following extract (and see Dugdale's Ba- 
ron, i. p. 175). 

"Ela uxor Gullielmi Longespee primi, 
nata fuit apud Ambresbiriam, patre et matre 
Normannis. 

" Pater itaque ejus defectus senio migravit 
ad Christum, A. D. 1196. Mater ejus ante 

biennium obiit Interea Domina cha- 

rissima clam per cognatos adducta fuit in 
Normanniam, et ibidem sub tuta et arcta 
custodia nutrita. Eodem tempore in Anglia 
fuit quidam miles nomine Gulielmus Talbot, 
qui induit se habitum Peregrini [Anglice, a 
pilgrim] in Normanniam transfretavit et mo- 
ratus per duos annos, hue atque illuc vagans, 
ad explorandam dominam Elam Sarum. Et 
ilia inventa exuit habitum Peregrini, et induit 
se quasi Cytharisator et curiam ubi moraba- 
tur intravit. Et ut erat homo Jocosus, in 
Gestis Antiquorum valde peritus, ibidem gra- 
tanter fuit acceptus quasi familiaris. Et 
quando tempus aptum invenit, in Angliam 
repatriavit, habens secum istam venerabilem 
dominam Elam et haeredam comitatus Sa- 
rum ; et earn Regi Richardo praesentavit. Ac 
ille laetissime earn suscepit, et Fratri suo 
Guilellmo Longespee maritavit 



lator was, we may learn from the Register of St. Swithin's 
Priory at, Winchester (T. Warton, i. 69). "Et cantabat 
Joculator quidam nomine HerebertusCantieum Colbrondi, 
necnon Gestum Emmc regine a judicio ignis liberate, in. 
aula Prioris." His instrument was sometimes the Fythele, 
or Fiddle, Lat. Fidicula : which occurs in the Anglo-Saxon 
Lexicon. On this subject we have a curious passage from 
a MS. of the Lives of the Saints in metre, supposed to In-. 
earlier than the year 1200 (T. Warton's Hist. i. p. 17), viz., 

Christofre him served longe 
The kynge loved melodye much of fithele and of songe : 
So that his Jogeler on a day beforen him gon to pleye faste, 
And in a tyme he neniped in his song the devil at laste. 



" A. D. 1226, Dominus Guill. Longespee 
primus nonas Martii obiit. Ela vero uxor 

ejus 7 annis supervixit Una die duo 

monasteria lundavit primo mane xvi Kal. 
Maii, A. D. 1232, apud Lacock, in quo sanctae 

degunt Canoniss-ee Et Henton post no- 

nam, anno vero zetatis suae xlv., &c." 

(W) For the preceding account, Dugdale 
refers to Monast. Angl. i. [r. ii.] p. 185, but 
gives it as enlarged by D. Powel, in his Hist, 
of Cambria, p. 196, who is known to have 
followed ancient Welsh MSS. The words in 
the Monasticon are — " Qui accersitis Sutori- 
bus Cestriae et Histrionibus, festinanter cum 
exercitu suo venit domino suo facere succur- 
sum. Walenses vero videntes multitudinem 
magnam venientem, relicta obsidione fuge- 
runt . . . Et propter hoc dedit comes antedic- 
tus . . . Constabulario dominationem Sutorum 
et Histrionum. Constabularius vero retinuit 
sibi et hasredibus suis dominationem Suto- 
rum : et histrionum dedit vero Seneschallo." 
(So the passage should apparently be pointed; 
but either et or vero seems redundant.) 

We shall see below in note (Z) the proper 
import of the word Histriones : but it is 
very remarkable that this is not the word 
used in the grant of the Constable De Lacy 
to Dutton, but " Magisterium omnium Lec- 
catorum et Meretricium totius Cestreshire, 
sicut liberius ilium [sic] Magisterium teneo 
de Comite." (Vid. Blount's Ancient Tenures, 
p. 156.) Now, as under this grant the heirs 
of Dutton confessedly held for many ages a 
magisterial jurisdiction over all the Minstrels 
and Musicians of that County, and as it could 
not be conveyed by the word Meretricis, the 
natural inference is that the Minstrels were 
expressed by the term Leccatores. It is true, 
Du Cange, compiling his Glossary, could only 
find in the writers he consulted this word 
used in the abusive sense, often applied to 
every synonyme of the sportive and dissolute 
Minstrel, viz. Scurra, vaniloquus, parasitus, 
epulo, &c. (This I conceive to be the proper 
arrangement of these explanations, which 
only express the character given to the Min- 
strel elsewhere: see Du Cange passim and 
notes (C), (E), (F), (I). But he quotes an an- 
cient MS. in French metre, wherein the Lec- 
cour (Lat. Leccator) and the Minstrel are 
joined together, as receiving from Charle- 
magne a grant of territory of Provence, and 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



from whom the Provenqal Troubadours were 
derived, &c. See the passage above in note 
(C) page xxvi. 

The exception in favour of the family of 
Dutton is thus expressed in the Statute Anno 
39 Eliz. chap, iv., entitled, " An Act for pun- 
ishment of Rogues, Vagabonds, and Sturdy 
Beggars." 

*' § II All Fencers, Bearwards, Com- 
mon Players of Enterludes, and Minstrels, 
wandering abroad, (other than Players of 
Enterludes belonging to any Baron of this 
Realm, or any other honourable Personage 
of greater degree, to be authorised to play 
under the hand and seal of arms of such Ba- 
ron or Personage:) all Juglers, Tinkers, Ped- 
lers, &c. . . . shall be adjudged and deemed 
Rogues, Vagabonds, and Sturdy Beggars, &c. 

" I X. Provided always that this Act, or 
anything herein contained, or any authority 
thereby given, shall not in any wise extend 
to disinherit, prejudice, or hinder John Dut- 
ton of Dutton, in the County of Chester, Es- 
quire, his heirs or assigns, for, touching or 
concerning any liberty, preheminence, autho- 
rity, jurisdiction, or inheritance, which the 
said John Dutton now lawfully useth,or hath, 
or lawfully may or aught to use within the 
County-Palatine of Chester, and the County 
of the City of Chester, or either of them, by 
reason of any ancient Charters of any Kings 
of this Land, or by reason of any prescription, 
usage, or title whatsoever." 

The same clauses are renewed in the last 
Act on this subject, passed in the present 
Reign of Geo. III. 

(X) " Edward I at the knighting of 

his son," &c] See Nic. Triveti Annales, 
Oxon. 1719, 8vo. p. 342. 

" In festo Pentecoetes Rex filium suum ar- 
mis militaribus cinxit, et cum eo Comites 
Warennite et Arundeliae, aliosque, quorum 
numerus ducentos et quadraginti dicitur ex- 
cessisse. Eodem die cum sedisset Rex in 
mensa, novis militibus circumdatus, ingressa 
Ministrellorum Multitudo, portantium multi- 
plici ornatu amictum, ut milites prsecipue 
novos invitarent, et inducerent, ad vovendum 
factum armorum aliquod coram signo." 

(Y) " By an express regulation, &c."] See 
in Hearne's Append, ad Lelandi Collectan. 
vol. vi. p. 36. " A Dietarie, Writtes published 
6 



after the Ordinance of Earles and Barons, 
Anno Dom. 1315." 

"Edward by the grace of God, &c, to She- 

riffes, &c, greetying. Forasmuch as 

many idle persons, under colour of Mynstrel- 
sie, and going in messages, and other faigned 
busines, have ben and yet be receaved in 
other mens houses to meate and drynke, and 
be not therwith contented yf they be not 
largely consydered with gyftes of the Lordes 
of the houses : &c. . . We wyllyng to restrayne 
suche outrageous enterprises and idleness, &c. 

have ordeyned that to the houses of 

Prelates, Earles, and Barons, none resort to 
meate and drynke, unlesse he be a Mynstrel, 
and of these Minstrels that there come none 
except it be three or four Minstrels of honour 
at the most in one day, unlesse he be desired 
of the Lorde of the House. And to the houses 
of meaner men that none come unlesse he be 
desired, and that such as shall come so, holde 
themselves contented with meate and drynke 
and with such curtesie as the Maister of the 
House wyl shewe unto them of his owne good 
wyll, without their askyng of anythyng. And 
yf any one do agaynst this Ordinaunce, at the 
firste time he to lose his Minstrelsie, and at 
the second tyme to forsweare his craft, and 
never to be receaved for a Minstrel in any 

house Yeven at Langley the vi. day 

of August in the ix. yere of our reigne." 

These abuses arose again to as great a 
height as ever in little more than a century 
after, in consequence, I suppose, of the licen. 
tiousness that crept in during the civil wars 
of York and Lancaster. This appears from 
the Charter 9 E. IV., referred to in p. xliii. 
" Ex querulosa insinuatione. . . Ministrallo- 
rum nostrorum accepimus qualiter nonnulli 
rudes agricolae et artifices diversarum miste- 
rarum regni nostri Angliae, finxerunt se fore 
Ministrallos, quorum aliqui Liberatam nos- 
tram eis minime datam portarent, seipsos 
etiam fingentes esse Minstrallos nostras pro- 
prios, cujus quidem Liberatae ac dictse artis 
sive occupationis Ministrallorum colore, in 
diversis partibus regni nostri prsedicti grandes 
pecuniarum exactiones de ligeis nostris de- 
ceptive colligunt, &c." 

Abuses of this kind prevailed much later 
in Wales, as appears from the famous Com- 
mission issued out in 9 Eliz. (1567), for be- 
stowing the Silver Harp on the best Minstrel, 
By Honer, or Bard, in the principality of 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



North Wales ; of which a fuller account will 
be given below in note (B b 3). 

(Z) " It is thus related by Stow,"] See 
his Survey of London, &c, fol. 1633, p. 521. 
[Ace. of Westm. Hall.] Stow had this pas- 
sage from Walsingham's Hist. Ang. . . " In- 
travit qusedam mulier ornata Histrionali ha- 
bitu, equum bonum insidens Histrionaliter 
phaleratum, quae mensas more Histrionum 
circuivit ; et tandem ad Regis mensam per 
gradus ascendit, et quandam literam coram 
rege posuit, et retracto fraeno (salutatis ubi- 
que discumbentibus) prout venerat ita reces- 
sit," &c. Anglic. Norm. Script. &c, Franc. 
1603, fol. p. 109. 

It may be observed here that Minstrels and 
others often rode on horseback up to the royal 
table, when the Kings were feasting in their 
great halls. See in this work, page 73. 

The answer of the Porters (when they 
were afterwards blamed for admitting her) 
also deserves attention. "Non esse moris 
domus regiae Ilistriones ab ingressu quomo- 
dolibet prohibere," &c. Walsingh. 

That Stow rightly translated the Latin 
word Histrio here by Minstrel, meaning a 
musician that sung, whose subjects were sto- 
ries of chivalry, admits of easy proof; for in 
the Gesta Romanorum, chap, cxi., Mercury is 
represented as com"»ig to Argus in the cha- 
racter of a Minstrel ; when he incipit, more 
Histrionico, fabulas dicere, et plerumque can- 
tare." (T. Warton, iii. p. li.) And Muratori 
cites a passage in an old Italian chronicle, 
wherein mention is made of a stage erected 

at Milan " Super quo Ilistriones canta- 

bant, sicut modo cantatur de Rolando et Oli- 
verio." Antich. Ital. li. p. 6. (Observ. on 
the Statutes, 4th edit. p. 362.) 

See also (E) pag. xxvi. &c. (F) p. xxvii. &c. 

(A a) "There should seem to have been 
women of this profession."] This may be 
inferred from the variety of names appropri- 
ated to them in the middle ages, viz. : Anglo- 
Sax. Irlipmeben, [Glee-maiden] &c. Eli- 
ypienbe-maben, Lrlypj3ybeneptp.a. 
(Vid. 8upra p. xxvii.) Ft. Jengleresse, Med. 
Lat. Joculatrix, Ministrallissa, Fcemina Minis- 
terialis, &c. (Vid. Du Cange Gloss, and 
Suppl.) 

See what is said in page xix. concerning 
the " sisters of the fraternity of Minstrels ;" 



see also a passage quoted by Dr. Burney (ii. 
315), from Muratori, of the Chorus of "Women 
singing through the streets accompanied with 
musical instruments in 1268. 

Had the female described by Walsiugham 
been a Tombestere, or dancing-woman (see Tyr- 
whitt's Chaucer, iv. 307, and v. Gloss.), that 
historian would probably have used the word 
Saltatrix. (See T. Warton, i. 240, note m.) 

These Saltatrices were prohibited from exhi- 
biting in churches and church-yards along 
with Jocnlatores, Ilistriones, with whom they 
were sometimes classed, especially by the 
rigid ecclesiastics, who censured, in the sever- 
est terms, all these sportive characters. (Vid. 
T. Warton, in loco citato, et vide supra not. 
(E) (F) &c.) 

And here I would observe, that although 
Fauchet and other subsequent writers affect 
to arrange the several members of the min- 
strel profession, under the different classes 
of Troverres (or Troubadours) Chanterres, 
Conteours, and Jugleurs, &c. (vid. page xlviii.), 
as if they were distinct and separate orders 
of men, clearly distinguished from each other 
by these appropiate terms, we find no suffi- 
cient grounds for this in the oldest writers ; 
but the general names in Latin, Histrio, 
Mimus, Joculator, Ministrallus, &c; in French, 
Menestrier, Menesfrel, Jongleur, Jugleur, &c. ; 
and in English, Jogeleur, Jugler, Minstrel, and 
the like, seem to be given them indiscrimi- 
nately. And one or other of these names 
seems to have been sometimes applied to 
every species of men whose business it was 
to entertain or divert (joculari) whether with 
poesy, singing, music, or gesticulation, singly, 
or with a mixture of all these. Yet as all 
men of this sort were considered as belonging 
to one class, order, or community (many of 
the above arts being sometimes exercised by 
the same person), they had all of them doubt- 
less the same privileges, and it equally throws 
light upon the general history of the profes- 
sion, to show what favour or encouragement 
was given, at any particular period of time, 
to any one branch of it. I have not therefore 
thought it needful to inquire, whether, in the 
various passages quoted in these pages, the 
word Minstrel, &c., is always to be understood 
in its exact and proper meaning of a singer 
to the harp, &c. 

That men of very different arts and talents 
were included under the common name of 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



xli 



Minstrels, &c. appears from a variety of 
authorities. Thus we have Menestrels de 
Trompes, and Menestrels de Bouclie, in the 
Suppl. to Du Cange, c. 1227, and it appears 
still more evident from an old French Rhymer, 
whom I shall quote at large. 

" Le Quens* manda les Menestrels ; *Le 

[Compte. 
Et si a fetf crier entre els, f fait. 

Qui la meillor truffe X sauroit % Sornette, 

Dire, ne faire, qu'il auroit [a gibe, a jest, 
Sa robe d'escarlate neuve. [or flouting.] 

L'uns Menestrels a l'autre reuve 
Fere son mestier, tel qu'il sot, 
Li uns fet l'yvre, l'autre sot ; 
Li uns chante, li autre note ; 
Et ii autres dit la riote ; 
Et li autres la jenglerie ;$ \ Janglerie, ba- 

Cil qui sevent de jonglerie [Milage, rail- 

Vielent par devant le Conte ; [lerie. 

Acuns ja qui fabliaus conte 
II i ot dit mainte ris<?e," &c. 

Fabliaux et Contes, 12mo. torn. ii. p. 161. 

And what species of entertainment was af- 
forded by the ancient Jaggleurs, we learn 
from the following citation from an old ro- 
mance, written in 1230. 

" Quand les tables ostees furent 
C'iljuggleurs in pies esturent 
S'ont vielles, et harpes prisees 
Chansons, sons, vers, et reprisas 
Et gesies, chante nos ont." 

Sir J. Hawkins, ii. 44, from Andr. Du 
Chene. See also Tyrwhitt's Chaucer, iv. p. 
299. 

All the before-mentioned sports went by the 
general name of Minislralcia, Ministellorum 
I/udicra, &c— " Charta an. 1377, apud Rymer, 
vii. p. 160. ' Peracto autem prandio, ascende- 
bat D. Rex in cameram suam cum Praelatis, 
Magnatibus, et Proceribus praedictis : et de- 
inceps Magnates Milites, et Domini, aliique 
Generosi diem ilium, usque ad tempus coenae, 
in Tripediis coreis et solempnibus Ministral- 
ciis, prae gaudio solempnitatis illius continu- 
arunt.'" (Du Cange, Gloss. 773.) [This 
was at the Coronation of King Richard II.] 

It was common for the minstrels to dance, 
as well as to harp and sing (see above, note 
(E), p. xxvi.) Thus, in the old romance of 



firanto el Blanco; Val. 1511, the 14th cap. 
lib. ii. begins thus, " Despues tpje las mesas 
fueron alc,adas vinieron los ministriles ; y 
delante del Rey, y de la Reyna dancaron un 
rato : y despues truxeron colacion." 

They also probably, among their other 
feats, played tricks of sleight of hand, hence 
the word Jugler came to signify a performer 
of legerdemain : and it was sometimes used 
in this sense (to which it is now appropriated) 
even so early as the time of Chaucer, who in 
his Squire's Tale (ii. 108) speaks of the horse 
of brass, as 

like 



An apparence ymade by som magike, 
As Jogelours plaien at thise festes grete. 
See also the Frerc's Tale, p. 279, v. 7049. 

(A a 2) " Females playing on the Harp."] 
Thus in the old Romance of "Syr Degore (or 
Degree," Series the third, No/ 22, p. 194), 
we have [Sign. D. i.] 

The lady, that was so faire and bright, 
Upon her bed she sate down ryght ; 
She harped notes swete and fine. 
[Her mayds filled a piece of wine. ] 
And Syr Degore sate him downe, 
For to hear the harpes sowne. 

The 4th line being omitted in the pr. copy 
is supplied from the folio MS. 

In the " Squyr of lowe Degree" (Series the 
Third, No. 24, p. 195), the king says to his 
daughter [Sign. D. i.] 

Ye were wont to harpe and syng, 

And be'the meryest in chamber comyng. 

In the "Carle of Carlisle," (Series the Third, 
No. 193, p. 29.) we have the following pas- 
sage. [Folio MS. p. 451, v. 217.] 

Downe came a lady faire and free, 
And sett her on the Carles knee : 
One whiles shee harped another whiles song, 
Both of paramours and louinge amonge. 

And in the Romance of "Eger and Grime" 
(Series the Third, No 12, p. 194), we have 
[Ibid. p. 127, col. 2] in Part, I. v. 263. 

The ladye fayre of hew and hyde 
Shee sate downe by the bed side 



xlii 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



Shee laid a souter [psaltry] vpou her knee 

Theron shee plaid full lovesonielye. 

. . . And her 2 maydens sweetlye sange. 

A similar passage occurs in Part IV. v. 129, 
(page 136. ) — But these instances are suffi- 
cient. 

(B b) " A charter .... to appoint a king 
of the Minstrels."] Entitled Carta le Roy de 
Ministraulx (in Latin Histriones, vid. Plott, 
p. 437). A copy of this charter is printed in 
Monast. Anglic, i. 355, and in Blount's Law 
Diction. 1717. (art. King.) 

That this was a most respectable officer, 
both here and on the Continent, will appear 
from the passages quoted below, and there- 
fore it could only have been in modern times, 
when the proper meaning of the original 
terms Ministraulz, and Histriones, was forgot, 
that he was called King of the Fidlers ; on 
which subject see below, Note (E e 2). 

Concerning the King of the Minstrels we 
have the following curious passages collected 
by Du Cange, Gloss, iv. 773. 

" Rex Ministellorum ; supremus inter Mi- 
nistellos: de cujus munere, potestate in caeteros 
Ministellos agit Charta Ilenrici IV. Regis 
Angliae in Monast. Anglicano, torn. i. pag. 

355. Charta originalis an. 1338. Je 

Robert Caveron Roy des Menestreuls du 
Royaume de France. Alias ann. 1357 et 1362. 
Copin de Brequin Roy des Menestres du 
Royaume de France. Computum de auxiliis 
pro redemptione Regis Johannis, ann. 1367. 
Pour une Couronne d'argent qu'il donna le 
jour de la Tiphiane au Roy des Menestrels. 

" Regestum Magnorum Dierum Trecensium 
an. 1296. Super quod Joannes dictus Char- 
millons Juglator, cui Dominus Rex per suas 
literas tanquam Regem Juglatorum in civi- 
tate Trecensi Magisterium Juglatorum, queni- 
admodum suas placeret voluntati, conces- 
serat." Gloss, c. 1587 { 

There is a very curious passage in Pas- 
quier's "Recherches de la France," Paris, 
1633, folio, liv. 7, ch. 5, p. 611, wherein he 
appears to be at a loss how to account for the 
title of Le Roy assumed by the old composers 
of metrical Romances ; in one of which the 
author expressly declares himself to have 
been a Minstrel. The solution of the diffi- 
culty, that he had been Le Roy des Menestrels, 
will be esteemed more probable than what 
Pasquier here advances ; for I have never 



seen the title of Prince given to a Minstrel, 
&c, scil. — " A nos vieux Poetes . . . comme 
. . fust qu'ils eussent certain jeux de prix en 
leurs Poesies, ils .... honoroient du nome, 
tantot de Roy, tan tot de Prince, celuy qui 
avoit le mieux faict comme nous voyons entre 
les Archers, Arbalestiers, et Harquebusiers 
estre fait le semblable. Ainsi l'Autheur du 
Roman d'Oger le Danois s'appelle Roy. 

" Icy endroict est cil Livre finez 
Qui des enfans Oger est appellez 
Or vueille Diex qu'il soit parachevez 
En tel maniere kestre n'en puist blamez 
Le Roy Adams [r. Adenes] ki il' est rimez. 
" Et en celuy de Cleomades, 

" Ce Livre de Cleomades 
Rime je le Roy Adenes 
Menestre au bon Due Henry. 

" Mot de Roy, qui seroit tres-mal approprie 
a un Menestrier, si d'ailleurs on ne le rappor- 
toit a un jeu du priz: Et de faict il semble 
que de nostre temps, il y en eust encores 
quelque remarques, en ce que le mot de Jou- 
ingleur s'estant par succession de temps 
tourne en batelage, nous avons veu en nostre 
Ijeunesse les Jouing leurs setrouver a certain 
jour tous les ans en la ville de Chauny en Pi- 
cardie, pour faire monstre de leur mestrier 
devant le monde, a qui mieux. Et ce que j'en 
dis icy n'est pas pour vilipender ces anciens 
Rimeurs, ainsi pour monstrer qu'il n'y a chose 
si belle qui ne s'aneantisse avec le temps." 

We see here that in the time of Pasquier 
the poor Minstrel was sunk into as low esti- 
mation in France, as he was then or after- 
wards in England : but by his apology for 
comparing the Jouingleurs, who assembled 
to exercise their faculty, in his youth, to the 
ancient Rimeurs, it is plain they exerted their 
skill in rhyme. 

As for King Adenes, or Adenez (whose 
name in the first passage above is corruptly 
printed Adams), he is recorded in the " Bi- 
bliotheques des Romans, Amst. 1735," 12mo. 
vol. i. p. 232, to have composed the two Ro- 
mances in verse above mentioned, and a third, 
entitled Le Roman de Berlin: all three being 
preserved in a MS. written about 1270. His 
Bon Due Henry I conceive to have been Henry 
Duke of Brabant. 

(B b 2) " King of the Minstrels," &c.J 
See Antis's Register of the Order of the Gar- 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



xliii 



ter, ii. p. 303, who tells us " The President 
or Governour of the Minstrels had the like 
denomination of Roy in France and Bur- 
gundy : and in England, John of Gaunt con- 
stituted such an officer by a patent; and long 
before his time payments were made by the 
crown to [a] King of the Minstrels by Edw. 
I. Regi Roberto Ministrallo scutifero ad arma 
commoranti ad vadia Regis anno 5to. [Bibl. 
Cotton. Vespas. c. 16, f. 3] ; as likewise [Li- 
bra Garderob. 25 E. I.] Ministrallis in die 
nuptiarum Comitissas Holland filise Regis, 
Regi Pago, Johanni Vidulatori, &c. Morello 
Regi, &c. Druetto Monthant, et Jacketto de 
Scot. Regibus, cuilibet eorum xl. s. Regi 
Pagio de Hollandia, &c. Under Ed. II. we 
likewise find other entries, Regi Roberto et 
aliis Ministrallis facientibus Menistrallias 
[Ministralcias qu.] suas coram Rege. [Bibl. 
Cotton. Nero. c. 8, p. 84, b. Comp. Garderob.] 
That king granted Willielmo de Morlee dicto 
Roy de North, Ministrallo Regis, domos quag 
fuerunt Johannis le Botoler dicti Roy Brun- 
haud. [Pat. de terr. forisfact. 16 E. III.]" 
He adds below (p. 304) a similar instance of 
a Rex Juglatorum, and that the " King of the 
Minstrels," at length was styled in France 
Roy de Violins, (Furetiere Diction. Univers.) 
as with us " King of the Fidlers ;" on which 
subject see below, note (E e 2). 

(B b 3) The Statute 4 Hen. IV. (1402), c. 
27, runs in these terms, " Item, pur eschuir 
plusieurs diseases et mischiefs qont advenuz 
devaunt ces heures en la terre de Gales par 
plusieurs Westours, Rymours, Minstralx et 
autres Vacabondes, ordeignez est et establiz 
qe nul Westour, Rymour, Minstral ne Vaca- 
bond soit aucunement sustenuz en la terre de 
Gales pur faire kymorthas ou coillage sur la 
commune poeple illoeques." This is among 
the severe laws against the Welsh, passed 
during the resentment occasioned by the out- 
rages committed under Owen Glendour ; and 
as the Welsh Bards had excited their country- 
men to rebellion against the English Govern- 
ment, it is not to be wondered, that the Act 
is conceived in terms of the utmost indigna- 
tion and contempt against this class of men, 
who are described as Rymours, Ministralx, 
which are apparently here used as only 
synonymous terms to express the Welsh 
Bards with the usual exuberance of our Acts 
of Parliament: for if their Ministralx had 



been mere musicians, they would not have 
required the vigilance of the English leg- 
islature to suppress them. It was their 
songs exciting their countrymen to insurrec- 
tion which produced "les diseases et mischiefs 
en la Terre de Gales." 

It is also submitted to the reader, whether 
the same application of the terms does not 
still more clearly appear in the Commission 
issued in 1567, and printed in Evan Evans's 
Specimens of Welsh Poetry, 1764, 4to. p. v.. 
for bestowing the Silver Harp on " the chief 
of that faculty." For after settingforth "that 
vagrant and idle persons, naming themselves 
Minstrels, Rythmers, and Bards, had lately 
grown into such intolerable multitude within 
the Principality in North Wales, that not 
only gentlemen and others by their shameless 
disorders are oftentimes disquieted in their 
habitations, but also expert Minstrels and Mu- 
sicians in tonge and cunynge thereby much 
discouraged, &c." and " hindred [of] livings 
and preferment," &c. it appoints a time and 
place, wherein all " persons that intend to 
maintain their living by name or colour of 
Minstrels, Rythmers, or Bards," within five 
shires of North Wales, " shall appear to show 
their learnings accordingly," &c. And the 
Commissioners are required to admit such as 
shall be found worthy, into and under the de- 
grees heretofore in use, so that they may 
" use, exercise, and follow the sciences and 
faculties of their professions in such decent 
order as shall appertain to each of their de- 
grees." And the rest are to return to some 
honest labour, &c, upon pain to be taken as 
sturdy and idle vagabonds, &c. 

(B b 4) Holingshed translated this passage 
from Tho. de Elmham's " Vita et Gesta Hen- 
rici V.," scil. " Soli OmnipotentiDeo se velle 
victoriam imputari .... in tantum, quod 
cantus de suo triumpho fieri, seu per Citha- 
ristas vel alios quoscunque cantari penitus 
prohibebat." [Edit. Hearnii, 1727, p. 72.] 
As in his version Holingshed attributes the 
making as well as singing ditties to Minstrels, 
it is plain he knew that men of this profes- 
sion had been accustomed to do both. 

(C c) " The Household Book," &c] See 
Section V. 

"Of the Nombre of all my lords Ser- 
vaunts." 



xliv 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



" Item, Mynstrals in Houshold iii. viz. A 
Taberet, a Luyte, and a Rebecc." [The Re- 
beck was a kind of Fiddle with three strings.] 

Sect. XLIV. 3. 

" Rewardes to his lordship's Servaunts, &c." 

" Item, My lord usith ande accustomith to 
gyf yerly, when his lordschipp is at home, to 
his Minstrallis that be daily in his household, 
as his Tabret, Lute, and Rebcke, upon New 
lay in the niornynge when they do play 
at my lordis chamber dour for his Lordschip 
and my Lady, xx. s. Viz. xiii. s. iiii d. for my 
Lord ; and vi. s. viii. d. for my Lady, if sche be 
at my lords fyndynge, and not at hir owen ; 
and for playing at my lordis Sone and Heir's 
chamber doure, the lord Percy, ii. s. And 
for playinge at the chamber doures of my 
lords Yonger Sonnes, my yonge masters, after 
ziii. d. the pece for every of them. xxiii. 

iiii. d." 

Sect XLIV. 2. 

"Rewards to be geven to strangers, as 
Players, Mynstralls, or any other, &c. 

" Furst, my lorde usith and accustomyth to 
gif to the Kings Jugler ; . . . . when they 
custome to come unto him yerly, vi. s. viii. d. 

" Item, my lorde usith and accustomyth to 
gif yerely to the kings or queenes Bearwarde, 
if they have one, when they custom to come 
unto him yerly, — vi. s. viii. d. 

" Item, my lorde usith and accustomyth to 
gyfe yerly to every Erles Mynstrellis, when 
they custome to come to hym yerely, iii. s. 
iiii. d. And if they come to my lorde seldome, 
ones in ii or iii yeres, than vi. s. viii. d. 

" Item, my lorde usith and accustomedeth 
to gife yerely to an Erls Mynstralls, if he be 
his speciall lorde, friende, or kynsman, if 
they come yerely to his lordschip . . . . 
And, if they come to my 'lord' seldome, ones 
in ii or iii years . . / 

****** 

"Item, my lorde usith and accustomyth to 
gyf yerely a Dookes or Erlis Trumpetts, if 
they come vi together to his lordschipp, viz. 
if they come yerly, vi. s. viii. d. And, if they 
come but in ii or iii yeres, than x. s. 

" Item, my lorde usith and accustometh to 
gife yerly, when his lordschip is at home, to 
gyf to the Kyngs Shawmes, when they com 
to my lorde yerely, x. s." 



I cannot conclude this note without ob- 
serving, that in this enumeration the family 
Minstrels seem to have been Musicians only, 
and yet both the Earl's Trumpets and the 
King's Shawmes are evidently distinguished 
from the Earl's Minstrels, and the King's 
Jugler : Now we find Jugglers still coupled 
with Pipers in Barklay's Egloges, circ. 1514. 
(Warton, ii. 254.) 

(0 c 2) The honours and rewards conferred 
on Minstrels, &c, in the middle ages were 
excessive, as will be seen by many instances 
in these volumes; v. notes (E), (F), &c. But 
more particularly with regard to English 
Minstrels, &c, see T. Warton's Hist, of Eng. 
Poetry, i. p. 89—92, 116, &c, ii. 105, 106, 254, 
&c. Dr. Burney's Hist of Music, ii. p. 316 
—319, 397—399, 427, 428. 

On this head, it may be sufficient to add the 
following passage from theFleta, lib. ii. c. 23. 
" Officium Elemosinarij est. . Equos relictos, 
Robas, Pecuniam, et alia artl Elemosinam lar- 
giter recipere et fideliter distribuere ; debet 
etiam Regem super Elemosinas largitione 
crebris summonitionibus stimulare et prasci- 
pue diebus Sanctorum, et rogare ne Robas 
suas quje magni sunt precij Histrionibus, 
Blanditoribus, Adulatoribus, Accusatoribus, 
vel Menestrallis, sed ad Elemosinre su99 in- 
crcmuntum jubeat largiri." Et in c. 72. 
" Ministralli, vel Adulatoris." 

(D d) " A species of men who did not 
sing," &c] It appears from the passage of 
Erasmus here referred to, that there still ex- 
isted in England of that species of Jongleurs 
or Minstrels, whom the French called by the 
peculiar name of Conteours, or Reciters in 
prose. It is in his Ecclesiastes, where he is 
speaking of suchpreachers as imitated the tone 
of Beggars or Mountebanks : — " Apud Anglos 
est similegenus hominum, quales apud Italos 
sunt Circulatores [Mountebanks] de quibus 
modo dictum est; qui irrumpunt in convivia 
Magnatum, aut inCAUPONAS Vinarias; etar- 
gumentum aliquod, quod edidicerunt, reci- 
tant ; puta mortem omnibus dominari, aut lau- 
dem matrimonii. Sed quoniam ea lingua mo- 
nosyllabis fere constat, quemadmodum Ger- 
manica ; atque illi [sc. this peculiar species of 
Reciters] studio vitant cantum, nobis (sc. 
Erasmus, who did not understand a word of 
English) latrare videntur verius quam loqui." 
Opera, torn. v. c. 958. (Jortin, vol. ii. p. 193.) 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



xlv 



As Erasmus was correcting the vice of preach- 
ers, it was more to his point to bring an in- 
stance from the Moral Reciters of Prose than 
from Chanters of Rhyme ; though the latter 
would probably be more popular, and there- 
fore more common. 

(E e) This character is supposed to have 
been suggested by descriptions of Minstrels 
in the romance of " Morte Arthur ;" but none, 
it seems, have been found, which come nearer 
to it than the following, which I shall produce, 
not only that the reader may judge of the re- 
semblance, but to show how nearly the idea 
of the Minstrel character given in this Essay 
corresponds with that of our old writers. 

Sir Lancelot, having been affronted by a 
threatening abusive letter, which Mark King 
of Cornwal had sent to Queen Guenever, 
wherein he " spake shame by her, and Sir 
Lancelot," is comforted by a knight named 
Sir Dinadan, who tells him " I will make a 
Lay for him, and when it is made, I shall 
make an Harper to sing it before him. So 
anon he went and made it, and taught it an 
Harper, that hyght Elyot ; and when hee 
could it, hee taught it to many harpers. And 
so. . . . the Harpers went straight unto Wales 
and Cornwaile to sing the Lay. . . . which was 
the worst Lay that ever Harper sung with 
harpe, or with any other instrument. And 
[at a] great feast that King Marke made for 

joy of [a] victorie which hee had, came 

Eliot the Harper ; . . and because he was a 
curious Harper, men heard him sing the same 
Lay that Sir Dinadan had made, the which 
spake the most vilanie by King Marke of his 
treason, that ever man heard. When the 
Harper had sung his song to the end, King 
Marke was wonderous wroth with him, and 
said, Thou Harper, how durst thou be so bold 
to sing this song before me ? Sir, said Eliot, 
wit you well I am a Minstrell, and I must 
doe as I am commanded of these Lords that 
I bear the armes of. And, Sir King, wit you 
well that Sir Dinadan a knight of the Round 
Table made this song, and he made me to 
sing it before you. Thou saiest well, said King 
Marke, I charge thee that thou hie thee fast 
out of my sight. So the Harper departed, 
&c." [Part II. c. 113, ed. 1634. See also 
Part III. c. 5.] 

(E e 2) " This Act seems to have put an 



end to the profession," &c] Although I con- 
ceive that the character ceased to exist, yet 
the appellation might be continued, and ap- 
plied to Fidlers, or other common Musicians ; 
which will account for the mistakes of Sir 
Peter Leicester, or other modern writers. 
(See his Historical Antiquities of Cheshire, 
1673, p. 141.) 

In this sense it is used in an Ordinance in 
the times of Cromwell, (1656,) wherein it is 
enacted, that if any of the " persons com- 
monly called Fidlers or Minstrels shall at any 
time be taken playing, fidling, and making 
music in any Inn, Ale-house, or Tavern, or 
shall be taken proffering themselves, or desir- 
ing, or intreating any. ... to hear them play 
or make music in any of the places afore- 
said ;" they are to be " adjudged and declared 
to be rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars." 

This will also account why John of Gaunt' s 
"King of the Minstrels" at length came to 
be called, like Le Roy des Violons in France, 
v. note (B b 2), " King of the Fidlers." See 
the common ballad entitled " The Pedigree, 
Education, and Marriage of Robinhood with 
Clorinda, Queen of Tutbury Feast:" which, 
though prefixed to the modern collection on 
that subject,* seems of much later date than 
most of the others ; for the writer appears to 
be totally ignorant of all the old traditions 
concerning this celebrated outlaw, and has 
given him a very elegant bride instead of his 
old noted Lemman " Maid Marian ;" who to- 
gether with his chaplain " Frier Tuck" were 
his favourite companions, and probably on 
that account figured in the old Morice Dance, 
as maybe seen by the engraving in Mr. Stee- 
vens's and Mr. Malone's Editions of Shak- 
speare: by whom she is mentioned, 1 Hen. 
IV., act iii. sc. 3. (See also Warton, i. 245, 
ii. 237.) Whereas, from this ballad's conclu- 
ding with an exhortation to " pray for the 
King," and " that he may get children, "&c, 

* Of the twenty-four songs in what is now called '• Robin 
Hood's Garland," many are so modern as not to be found 
in Pepys' collection completed only in 1700. In the folio 
MS. (described in p. iii.), are ancient fragments of the 
following, viz., Robin Hood and the Beggar. — Robin Hood 
and the Butcher. — Robin Hood and Fryer Tucke. — Robin 
Hood and the Pindar. — Robin Hood and Queen Catharine, 
in two parts. — Little John and the four Beggars, and 
" Robine Hoode his death." This last, which is very 
curious, has no resemblance to any that hare been pub- 
lished; and the others are extremely different from the 
printed copies ; but they unfortunately are in the beginning 
of the MS., where half of every leaf hath been torn away. 



xlvi 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



it is evidently posterior to the reign of Queen 
Elizabeth, and can scarce be older than the 
reign of King Charles I.; for King James I. 
had no issue after his accession to the throne 
of England. It may even have been written 
since the Restoration, and only express the 
wishes of the nation for issue on the mar- 
riage of their favourite King Charles II., on 
his marriage with the Infanta of Portugal. 
I think it is not found in the Pepys collec- 
tion. 

(F f ) " Historical Song, or Ballad."] The 
English word Ballad is evidently from the 
French Balade, as the latter is from the 
Italian Ballata; which the Crusca Dictionary 
defines, Canzone, che si canta Ballando, "A 
Song, which is sung during a Dance." So 
Dr. Burney [ii. 342], who refers to a collec- 
tion of Ballctte published by Gastaldi and 
printed at Antwerp in 1596. [iii. 226.] 

But the word appears to have had an ear- 
lier origin : for in the decline of the Roman 
Empire these trivial songs were called Ballis- 
tea and Saltatiunculce. Ballisteum, Salmasius 
says, is properly Ballistium. Gr. BaWiauov 

" airi r« BaXXi^o). . . . BaWiaia SaltatlO. . . . Bal- 

listium igitur est quod vulgo vocamus Ballet ; 
nam inde deducta vox nostra." Salmas. Not. 
in Hist. Ang. Scriptores VI. p. 349. 

In the life of the Emperor Aurelian by Fl. 
Vopiscus may be seen two of these Ballistea, 
as sung by the boys skipping and dancing, 
on account of a great slaughter made by the 
Emperor with his own hand in the Sarmatie 
War. The first is, 

" Mille, mille, mille decollavimus, 
Unus homo mille decollavimus, 
Mille vivat, qui mille occidit. 
Tantum vini habet nemo 
Quantum fudit sanguinis." 

The other was 

" Mille Sarmatas, mille Francos 
Semel et semel occidimus. 
Mille Persas quaerimus." 

Salmasius (in loc.) shows that the trivial 
Poets of that time were wont to form their 
metre of Trochaic Tetrametre Catalectics, 
divided into Distichs. [Ibid. p. 350.] This 
becoming the metre of the hymns in the 
Church Service, to which the Monks at length 



superadded rhyming terminations, was the 
origin of the common Trochaic Metre in the 
modern languages. This observation I owe 
to the learned author of Irish Antiquities, 4to. 

(F f 2) " Little Miscellanies named Gar- 
lands," &c] In the Pepysian and other 
libraries are presented a great number of 
these in black letter, 12mo., under the follow- 
ing quaint and affected titles, viz. : 

1. A Crowne Garland of Goulden Roses, 
gathered out of England's Royal Garden, 
&c, by Richard Johnson, 1612. [In the 
Bodleian Library.] 2. The Golden Garland 
of Princely Delight. 3. The Garland of 
Good-will, by T. D., 1631. 4. The Royal 
Garland of Love and Delight, by T. D. 
5. The Garland of Delight, &c, by Tho. 
Delone. 6. The Garland of Love and Mirth, 
by Thomas Lanfier. 7. Cupid's Garland set 
round with Guilded Roses. 8. The Garland 
of Withered Roses, by Martin Parker, 1656. 
9. The Shepherd's Garland of Love, Loyalty, 
&c. 10. The Country Garland. 11. The 
Golden Garland of Mirth and Merriment. 
12. The Lover's Garland. 13. Neptune's 
fair Garland. 14. England's fair Garland. 
15. Robin Hood's Garland. 16. The Maid- 
en's Garland. 17. A Loyal Garland of Mirth 
and Pastime. 18. A Royal Garland of New 
Songs. 19. The Jovial Garland, 8th ed., 
1691, &c, &c, &c. 

This sort of petty publications had an- 
ciently the name of " Penny-Merriments :" 
as little religious tracts of the same size were 
called " Penny Godlinesses." In the Pepysian 
Library are multitudes of both kinds. 

(G g) " The term Minstrel was not con- 
fined to a mere Musician in this country any 
more than on the Continent."] The discus- 
sion of the question, Whether the term Min- 
strel was applied in England to Singers and 
Composers of Songs, &c, or confined to the 
performers on musical instruments, was pro- 
perly reserved for this place, because much 
light hath already been thrown upon the 
subject in the preceding Notes, to which it 
will be sufficient to refer the reader. 

That on the Continent the Minstrel was 
understood not to be a mere Musician, but a 
Singer of Verses, hath been shown in Notes 
(B), (C), (R), (A a), &c * And that he was 



* That the French Minstrel was a singer and composer, 
&c, appears from many passages translated by M. Le Grand, 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



xlvii 



also a maker of them is evident from the 
passage in (C), p. xxv., where the most 
noted Romances are said to be of the compo- 
sition of these men. And in (B b), p. xlii., 
we have the titles of some of which a Min- 
strel was the author, who has himself left his 
name upon record. 

The old English names for one of this pro- 
fession were Gleeman,* Jogeler,f and latterly 
Minstrel ; not to mention Harper, &c. In 
French he was called Jongleur or Jugleur, 
Mencstrel or Menestrier.% The writers of the 
middle ages expressed the character in Latin 
by the words Joculator, Mimus, Histrio, Minis- 
trellas, &c. These terms, however modern 
critics may endeavour to distinguish, and 
apply them to different classes, and although 
they may be sometimes mentioned as if they 
were distinct, I cannot find, after a very strict 
research, to have had any settled appropriate 
difference, but they appear to have been used 
indiscriminately by the oldest writers, espe- 
cially in England ; where the most general 
and comprehensive name was latterly Min- 
strel, Lat. Ninistrellas, &c. 

Thus Joculator (Eng. Jogeler or Juglar) is 
used as synonymous to Citharista, Note (K), 
p. xxxi., and to Cantor (p. xxxi.), and to 
Minstrel (vid. infra p. xl.). "We have also 
positive proof that the subjects of his songs 
were Gestes and Romantic Tales. (V 2) note. 

So Mimus is used as anonymous to Jocula- 
tor, (M), p. xxxii. He was rewarded for his 
singing, (N), p. xxxiii., and he both sang, 
harped, and dealt in that sport (T 2) which 
is elsewhere called Ars Joculatoria, (M) ubi 
supra. 

Again, Histrio is also proved to have been 
a singer, (Z) p. xl., and to have gained 
rewards by his Verba Joculatoria, (E) p. xxvi. 
And Histriones is the term by which the 
French word Ministraulx is most frequently 
rendered into Latin, (W) p. xxxviii., (B b) p. 
xlii., &c. 

The fact therefore is sufficiently established 



in "Fabliaux ou Contes," Ac, see torn. i. p. 37, 47. — ii. 306, 
313 et seqq.— iii. 266, &c. Yet this writer, like other French, 
critics, endeavours to reduce to distinct and separate classes 
the men of this profession, uuder the precise names of 
Fablier, Om.te.ur, Memtrier, Menestrel, and Jongleur (torn. 
i. pref. p. xcviii.), whereas his own Tales confute all these 
nice distinctions, or prove at least that the title of Menetrier 
or Minstrel was applied to them all. 

* See page xxix. t See page xxxvii. 

% See page xxxvii. Note. 

7 



that this order of men were in England, as 
well as on the Continent, Singers ; so that it 
only becomes a dispute about words, whether 
here, under the more general name of Min- 
strels, they are described as having sung. 

But in proof of this we have only to turn 
to so common a book as T. Warton's History 
of English Poetry ; where we shall find ex- 
tracted from Records the following instances : 

Ex Registr. Priorat. S. Swithin Winton. 
(sub anno 1374). " In festo Alwyni Epi . . . 
Et durante pietancia in Aula Conventus sex 
Ministralli, cum quatuor Citharisatoribus, 
faciebant Ministralcias suas. Et post cenam, 
in magna camera arcuata Dom. Prioris can- 
tabant idem GesUm in qua Camera suspende- 
batur, ut moris est, magnum dorsale Prioris 
habens picturas trium Regum Colein. Ve- 
niebant autem dicti Joculatores a Castello 
Domini Regis et ex familia Epi." (Vol. ii. p. 
174.) Here the Minstrels and Harpers are 
expressly called Joculatores ; and as the 
Harpers had Musical Instruments, the Sing- 
ing must have been by the Minstrels, or by 
both conjointly. 

For that Minstrels sang we have undeni- 
able proof in the following entry in the 
Accompt Roll of the Priory of Bicester, in 
Oxfordshire (under the year 1432). "Dat 
Sex Ministrallis de Bokyngham cantantibus 
in refectorio Martyrium Septem Dormientium 
in Fasto Epiphanie, iv. s." (Vol. ii. p. 175.) 

In like manner our old English writers 
abound with passages wherein the Minstrel 
is represented as singing. To mention only 
a few: 

In the old Romance of EmarS (Series the 
Third, No. 15, p. 194), which from the obso- 
leteness of the style, the nakedness of the 
story, the barrenness of incidents, and some 
other particulars, I should judge to be next 
in point of time to Horn- Child, we have 

" I have herd Menstrelles syng yn sawe." 

Stanza 27. 

In a poem of Adam Davie (who flourished 
about 1312) we have this Distich, 

" Merry it is in halle to here the harpe, 
The Minstrelles synge,the Jogelours carpe." 
T. Warton, i. p. 225. 

So William of Nassyngton (circ. 1480) as 
quoted by Mr. Tyrwhitt (Chaucer, iv. 319). 



xlviii 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



— "I will make no vain carpinge 
Of dedcs of armys ne of amours 
As dus Minstrelles and Jestours [Gestours] 
That makys carpinge in many a place 
Of Octaviane and Isembrase, 
And of many other Jestes [Gestes] 
And namely whan they come to festes.* 

See also the Description of the Minstrel in 
note (E e) from Morte Arthur, which appears 
to have been compiled about the time of this 
last writer. (See T. Warton, ii. 235.) 

By proving that Minstrels were Singers of 
the old Romantic Songs and Gestes, &c, we 
have in effect proved them to have been the 
makers at least of some of them. For the 
names of their Authors being not preserved, 
to whom can we so probably ascribe the com- 
position of many of these old popular rhymes, 
as to the men who devoted all their time and 
talents to the recitation of them, especially 
as in the rhymes themselves Minstrels are 
often represented as the makers or com- 
posers ? 

Thus, in the oldest of all, Horn-Child, hav- 
ing assumed the character of a Harper or Jo- 
geler, is in consequence said (fo. 92) to have 

" made Rymenild [his mistress] a lay." 

In the old Romance of Emarg, we have 
this exhortation to Minstrels, as composers, 
otherwise they could not have been at liberty 
to choose their subjects, (st. 2.) 

" Menstrelles that walken fer and wyde 
Her and ther in every a syde 

In mony a dyverse londe 
Sholde ut her bygynnyng 
Speke of that rightwes kyng 

That made both see and londe," &c. 

And in the old Song or Geste of Guy and 
Colbronde (Series the Third, No. 4, p. 193), 
the Minstrel thus speaks of himself in the 
first person : 

" When meate and drinke is great plentye 
Then lords and ladyes still wil be 
And sitt and solace lythe 



* The fondness of the English (even the most illiterate) to 
hear tales and rhymes, is much dwelt on by Rob. de Brunne, 
in 1330. (Warton, i. p. 59, 65, 75.) All rhymes were then 
sung to the harp: even Troilus and Cresseide, though 
almost as long as the iEneid, was to be " redde .... or else 
gonge." 1. ult. (Warton, i. 388.) 



Then itt is time for mee to speake 
Of keene knights and kempes great 
Such carping for to kythe." 

We have seen already that the Welsh 
Bards, who were undoubtedly composers of 
the songs they chanted to the Harp, could not 
be distinguished by our legislators from our 
own Rimers, Minstrels. (Vid. (B b 3) p. xliii.) 

And that the Provencal Troubadour of our 
King Richard, who is called by M. Favine 
Jongleur, and by M. Fauchet Menestrel, is by 
the old English translator termed a Rimer or 
Minstrel when he is mentioning the fact of 
his composing some verses, (p. xxxii.) 

And lastly, that Holinshed, translating the 
prohibition of King Henry V., forbidding any 
songs to be composed on his victory, or to be 
sung by Harpers or others, roundly gives it, 
he would not permit " any ditties to be made 
and sung by Minstrels on his glorious Vic- 
tory," &c. Vid. p. xviii. and note (B b 4). 

Now that this order of men, at first called 
Gleemen, then Juglers, and afterwards more 
generally Minstrels, existed here from the 
Conquest, who entertained their hearers with 
chanting to the harp or other instruments, 
songs and tales of chivalry, or as they were 
called Gests* and Romances in verse in the 
English language, is proved by the existence 
of the very compositions they so chanted, 
which are still preserved in great abundance ; 
and exhibit a regular series from the time 
our language was almost Saxon, till after its 
improvements in the age of Chaucer, who 
enumerates many of them. And as the 
Norman French was in the time of this Bard 
still the courtly language, it shows that the 
English was not thereby excluded from 
affording entertainment to our nobility, who 
are so often addressed therein by the title of 
Lordings: and sometimes more positively 
" Lords and Ladies." 

And though many of these were translated 
from the French, others are evidently of 
English origin,! which appear in their turns 



* Gests at length came to signify adventures or incidents 
in general. So in a narrative of the journey into Scotland, 
of Queen Margaret and her attendants, on her marriage 
with King James IV. in 1503 [in Appendix to Lc land. 
Collect, iv. p. 265], we are promised an account "of their 
Gestys and manners during the said voyage." 

t The romance of "Richard Occur de Lion," (No. 25), I 
should judge to be of English origin from the names War- 
drewe and Eldrede, 4c, vol. iii. p. 194, 195. As is also Eger 
and Grime (No. 12), wherein a knight is named Sir Gray 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



xlix 



to have afforded versions into that language ; 
a sufficient proof of that intercommunity 
between the French and English Minstrels, 
which hath been mentioned in a preceding 
page. Even the abundance of such transla- 
tions into English, being all adapted for 
popular recitation, sufficiently establishes the 
fact, that the English Minstrels had a great 
demand for such compositions, which they 
were glad to supply, whether from their own 
native stores, or from other languages. 

We have seen above that the Joculator, 
Mimas, Hisirio, whether these characters 
were the same, or had any real difference, 
were all called Minstrels ; as was also the 
Harper,* when the term implied a singer, if 
not a composer, of songs, &c. By degrees 
the name of Minstrel was extended to vocal 
and instrumental musicians of every kind : 
and as in the establishment of royal and noble 
houses, the latter would necessarily be most 
numerous, so we are not to wonder that the 
band of music (entered under the general 
name of Minstrels) should consist of instru- 
mental performers chiefly, if not altogether : 
for, as the composer or singer of heroic tales 
to the harp would necessarily be a solitary 
performer, we must not expect to find him 
in the band along with the trumpeters, 
fluters, &c. 

However, as we sometimes find mention 
of " Minstrels of Music ;"f so at other times 
we hear of " expert Minstrels and Musicians 
of Tongue and Cunning," (B b 3) p. xliii.,J 



Steel, and a lady who excels in surgery is called Loospaine 
or Lnse-pain : these surely are not derived from France. 

* See the romance of "Sir Isenbras" (vol. iii. No. 14, p 
194), sign. a. 

Harpers loved him in Hall 
With other Minstrels all. 

f T. Warton, ii. 258, note (a) from Leland'a Collect, (vol. 
iv. Append, edit. 1774. p. 267.) 

% The curious author of the " Tour in Wales, 1773," 4to. 
p. 435, I find to have read these words '-in toune and 
contrey;" which I can scarce imagine to have been appli- 
cable to Wales at that time. Nor can I agree with him in 
the representation he has given (p. 307), concerning the 
Cymmorrth or meeting, wherein the Bards exerted their 
powers to excite their countrymen to war; as if it were by 
a deduction of the particulars he enumerates, and as it 
should seem in the way of harangue, Ac. After which, 

'• the band of Minstrels struck up; the harp, the 

crtvth, and the pipe filled the measures of enthusiasm, 
which the others had begun to inspire." Whereas it is 
well known, that the Bard chanted his enthusiastic effu- 
sions to the harp ; and as for the term Minstrel, it was 



meaning doubtless by the former, singers, and 
probably by the latter phrase, composers, of 
songs. Even " Minstrels Music" seems to be 
applied to the species of verse used by Min- 
strels in the passage quoted below.* 

But although, from the predominancy of 
instrumental music, Minstrelsy was at length 
chiefly to be understood in this sense, yet it 
was still applied to the Poetry of Minstrels 
so late as the time of Queen Elizabeth, as ap- 
pears in the following extract from Putten- 
ham's "Arte of English Poesie," p. 9, who, 
speaking of the first composers of Latin verses 
in rhyme, says, " all that they wrote to the 
favor or prayse of Princes, they did it in 
such manner of Minstralsie ; and thought 
themselves no small fooles, when they could 
make their verses go all in ryme." 

I shall conclude this subject with the fol- 
lowing description of Minstrelsy given by 
John Lidgate at the beginning of the 15th 
century, as it shows what a variety of enter- 
tainments were then comprehended under 
this term, together with every kind of instru- 
mental music then in use : 

— " Al maner Mynstralcye, 
That any man kan specifye. 
Ffor there were Rotys of Almayne 
And eke of Arragon, and Spayne : 
Songes, Stampes, and eke Daunces ; 
Divers plente of plesaunces : 
And many unkouth notys new 
Of swiche folke as lovid treue.f 
And instrumentys that did excelle, 
Many moo than I kan telle. 
Harpys, Fythales, and eke Rotys 
Well according to her [i. e. their] notys, 
Lutys, Ribibles, and Geternes, 
More for estatys, than tavernes : 
Orgay[n]s, Cytolis, Monacordys. — 
There were Trumpes, and Trumpettes, 
Lowde Shall [m]ys, and Doucettes." 
T. Warton, ii. 225, note (*). 



not, I conceive, at all used by the Welsh ; and in English 
it -comprehended both the bard and the musician. 

* " Your ordinarie rimers use very much their measures 
in the odde, as nine and eleven, and the sharpe accent upon 
the last sillable, which therefore makes him go ill favouredly 
and like a Minstrels musicke." (Puttenham's Arte of Eng. 
Poesie, 1589, p. 59.) This must mean his vocal music, 
otherwise it "appears not applicable to the subject. 

f By this phrase I understand, New Tales oi; Narrative 
Rhymes composed by the Minstrels on the subject of true 
and faithful Lovers, &c. 



THE END OF THE ESSAY. 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



*** The foregoing Essay on the Ancient Minstrels has been very much enlarged and 
improved since the first edition, with respect to the Anglo-Saxon Minstrels, in consequence 
of some objections proposed by the reverend and learned Mr. Pegge, which the reader may 
find in the second volume of the Archseologia, printed by the Antiquarian Society ; but 
which that gentleman has since retracted in the most liberal and candid manner in the 
third volume of the Arehaeologia, No. xxxiv. p. 310. 

And in consequence of similar objections respecting the English Minstrels after the Con- 
quest, the subsequent part hath been much enlarged, and additional light thrown upon 
the subject; which, to prevent cavil, hath been extended to Minstrelsy in all its branches, 
as it was established in England, whether by natives or foreigners. 



Hdiqms 



ANCIENT POETRY, ETC. 

" I never heard the old song of Percie and Douglas, that I found not my heart moved 
more than with a trumpet ; and yet ' it' is sung but by some blinde crowder, with no rougher 
voice, than rude style : which beeing so evill apparelled in the dust cobweb of that uncivill 
age, what would it work, trimmed in the gorgeous eloquence of Pindare !" 

Sir Philip Sydney's Defence of Poetry. 



SERIES THE FIRST. 
BOOK I. 



% \t Jtont §allafo 0f Cjrtfjjj-Cjpe. 



The fine heroic song of Chevy-Chase has 
ever been admired by competent judges. 
Those genuine strokes of nature and artless 
passion, which have endeared it to the most 
simple readers, have recommended it to the 
most refined ; and it has equally been the 
amusement of our childhood, and the favourite 
of our riper years. 

Mr. Addison has given an excellent cri- 
tique* on this very popular ballad, but is mis- 
taken with regard to the antiquity of the com- 
mon-received copy ; for this, if one may judge 
from the style, cannot be older than the time 
of Elizabeth, and was probably written after 
the eulogium of Sir Philip Sydney : perhaps 
in consequence of it. I flatter myself, I have 
here recovered the genuine antique poem ; the 
true original song, which appeared rude even 
in the time of Sir Philip, and caused him to 
lament that it was so evil apparelled in the 
rugged garb of antiquity. 

This curiosity is printed, from an old manu- 
script, at the end of Hearne's preface to Gul. 
Newbrigiensis Hist. 1719, 8vo. vol. i. To the 

* Spectator, No. 70, 74. 



MS. copy is subjoined the name of the author, 
Rychard Sheale;* whom Hearne had so little 
judgment as to suppose to be the same with a 
R. Sheale, who was living in 1588. But who- 
ever examines the gradation of language and 
idiom in the following volumes, will be con- 
vinced that this is the production of an earlier 
poet. It is indeed expressly mentioned among 
some very ancient songs in an old book enti- 
tled, The Complaint of Scotland,! (fol. 42), 
under the title of the Huntis of Chevet, where 
the two following lines are also quoted : 

The Perssee and the Mongumrye mette,| 
That day, that day, that gentil day :g 

which, though not quite the same as they 
stand in the ballad, yet differ not more than 
might be owing to the author's quoting from 

* Subscribed, after the usual manner of our old poets, 

EXPLICETH [explicit] QUOTH RYCHARD SffEALE. 

t One of the earliest productions of the Scottish press, 
now to be found. The title page was wanting in the copy 
here quoted ; but it is supposed to have been printed in 
1540. See Ames. 

t See Pt. 2, t. 23. ? See Pt. 1, v. 104. 

(51) 



52 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE. 



memory. Indeed, whoever considers the style 
and orthography of this old poem will not be 
inclined to place it lower than the time of 
Henry VI. : as on the other hand the mention 
of James the Scottish King,* with one or two 
anachronisms, forbids us to assign it an earlier 
date. King James I. who was prisoner in 
this kingdom at the death of his father,! did 
not wear the crown of Scotland till the second 
year of our Henry VI., J but before the end of 
that long reign a third James had mounted 
the throne. § A succession of two or three 
Jameses, and the long detention of one of them 
in England, would render the name familiar 
to the English, and dispose a poet in those 
rude times to give it to any Scottish king he 
happened to mention. 

So much for the date of this old ballad : 
with regard to its subject, although it has no 
countenance from history, there is room to 
think it had originally some foundation in 
fact. It was one of the Laws of the Marches 
frequently renewed between the two nations, 
that neither party should hunt in the other's 
borders, without leave from the proprietors or 
their deputies. || There had long been a rival- 
ship between the two martial families of Percy 
and Douglas, which, heightened by the na- 
tional quarrel, must have produced frequent 
challenges and struggles for superiority, petty 
invasions of their respective domains, and 
sharp contests for the point of honour ; which 
would not always be recorded in history. 
Something of this kind, we may suppose, gave 
rise to the ancient ballad of the Hunting a' 
the Chevait.^f Percy Earl of Northumberland 
had vowed to hunt for three days in the Scot- 
tish border, without condescending to ask 
leave from Earl Douglas, who was either lord 
of the soil, or lord warden of the marches. 
Douglas would not fail to resent the insult, 
and endeavour to repel the intruders by force : 



* Pt. 2, v. 36, 140. 

f Who died Aug. 5, 1406, in the 7th year of our Hen. IV. 

} James I. was crowned May 22, 1424 ; murdered Feb. 21, 
1406-7.(?) 

g In 14.30. — Henry VI. was deposed 1461 ; restored and 
slain, 1471. 

H Item Concordatum est, quod nuUus unius partis 

vel alterius ingrediatur terras, boschas, forrestas, warrenas, 
loca, dominia quaeeunque alicujus partis alterius subditi, 
causa venandi, piscandi, aucupandi, disporturn aut solati- 
um in eisdem, aliave quaeeunque de causa, absque licentia 

ejus — ad quem loca pertinent, aut de deputatis 

suis prius capt. & obtent. Vid. Bp. Nicolson's Leges Marchi- 
arum, 1705, 8vo., pp. 27, 51. 

fl This was the original title. See the ballad, Pt. 1, v. 106, 
Pt. 2, v. 165. 



this would naturally produce a sharp conflict 
between the two parties ; something of which, 
it is probable, did really happen, though not 
attended with the tragical circumstances re- 
corded in the ballad : for these are evidently 
borrowed from the Battle of Otterbourn,* a 
very different event, but which aftertimes 
would easily confound with it. That battle 
might be owing to some such previous affront 
as this of Chevy-Chase, though it has escaped 
the notice of historians. Our poet has evident- 
ly jumbled the two subjects together: if in- 
deed the lines,! in which this mistake is made, 
are not rather spurious, and the after-insertion 
of some person, who did not distinguish be- 
tween the two stories. 

Hearne has printed this ballad without any 
division of stanzas, in long lines, as he found 
it in the old written copy : but it is usual to 
find the distinction of stanzas neglected in 
ancient MSS ; where, to save room, two or 
three verses are frequently given in one line 
undivided. See flagrant instances in the Har- 
leian Catalog. No. 2253, s. 29, 34, 61, 70, et 
passim. 

THE FIRST FIT.J 

The Perse owt of Northombarlande, 

And a vowe to God mayd he, 
That he wolde hunte in the mountayns 

Off Chyviat within dayes thre, 
In the mauger of doughte Dogles, 5 

And all that ever with him be. 

The fattiste hartes in all Cheviat 

He sayd he wold kill, and cary them away: 
Be my feth, sayd the dougheti Doglas agayn, 

I wyll let that hontyng yf that I may. 10 

Then the Perse owt of Banborowe cam, 

With him a myghtye meany ; 
With fifteen hondrith archares bold ; 

The wear chosen out of shyars thre.f 

V. 5, magger in Hearne's P. C. [Printed Copy]. V. 11, 
The the Perse, P. C. V. 13, archardes bolde off blood and 
bone, P. C. 

* See the next ballad, 
t Vid. Pt. 2, v. 167. 

j Fit, see ver. 100. 

§ By these " shyars thre" is probably meant three dis- 
tricts in Northumberland, which still go by the name of 
shires, and are all in the neighbourhood of Cheviot. These 
are Mandshire, being the district so named from Holy- 
Island : Norehamshire, so called from the town and castle 
of Noreham (or Norham) : and Bamborougtehire, the ward 
or hundred belonging to Bamborough-castle and town. 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE. 



53 



This begane on a Monday at morn 15 

In Cheviat the Lillys so he ; 
The chyld may rue that ys un-born, 

It was the mor pitte. 

The dryvars thorowe the woodes went 

For to reas the dear ; 20 

Bomen bickarte uppone the bent 
With their browd aras cleare. 

Then the wyld thorowe the woodes went 

On every syde shear : 
Grea-hondes thorowe the greves glent 25 

For to kyll thear dear. 

The begane in Chyviat the hyls above 

Yerly on a monnyn day ; 
Be that it drewe to the oware off none 

A hondrith fat hartes ded ther lay. 30 

The blewe a mort uppone the bent, 

The semblyd on sydis shear ; 
To the quyrry then the Perse went 

To se the bryttlynge of the deare. 

He sayd, It was the Duglas promys 35 

This day to meet me hear ; 
But I wyste he wold faylle verament : 

A gret oth the Perse swear. 

At the laste a squyar of Northombelonde 
Lokyde at his hand full ny, 40 

He was war ath the doughetie Doglas eom- 
ynge: 
With him a mighte meany. 



Both with spear, ' byll,' and brande : 
Yt was a myghti sight to se, 

Hardyar men both off hart nar hande 
Were not in Christiante. 



45 



The wear twenty hondrith spear-men good 

Withouten any fayle ; 
The wear borne a-long be the watter a Twyde, 

Yth bowndes of Tividale. 50 

Leave off the brytlyng of the dear, he sayde, 
And to your bowys look ye tayk good heed ; 

For never sithe ye wear on your mothars borne 
Had ye never so mickle need. 



The dougheti Dogglas on a stede 
He rode att his men beforne ; 



55 



V. 19, throrowe, P. C. V. 31, blwe a mot, P. C. V. 42, 
myghtte, P. C, passim. V. 43, brylly, P. C. V. 48, withowte 
feale, P. C. V. 52, boys, P. C. V. 54, ned, P. C. 



His armor glytteryde as dyd a glede ; 
A bolder barne was never born. 

Tell me 'what' men ye ar, he says, 

Or whos men that ye be : 
Who gave youe leave to hunte in this 

Chyviat chays in the spyt of me ? 



60 



The first mane thatever him an answear mayd, 

Yt was the good lord Perse : 
We wyll not tell the ' what' men we ar, he 
says, 65 

Nor whos men that we be ; 
But we wyll hount hear in this chays 

In the spyte of thyne, and of the. 

The fattiste hartes in all Chyviat 

We have kyld, and cast to carry them 

a- way. 70 

Be my troth, sayd the doughte Dogglas agayn, 

Ther-for the ton of us shall de this day. 

Then sayd the doughte Doglas 

Unto the lord Perse : 
To kyll all thes giltless men, 75 

A-las ! it wear great pitte. 

But, Perse, thowe art a lord of lande, 
I am a yerle callyd within my contre ; 

Let all our men uppone a parti stande ; 
And do the battell off the and of me. 80 

Now Cristes cors on his crowne, sayd the lord 
Perse, 

Who-soever ther-to says nay. 
Be my troth, doughte Doglas, he says, 

Thow shalt never se that day ; 

Netharin Ynglonde, Skottlonde, narFrance,85 
Nor for no man of a woman born, 

But and fortune be my chance, 
I dar met him on man for on. 

Then bespayke a squyar off Northombarlonde, 
Ric. Wytharynton* was him nam ; 90 

It shall never be told in Sothe- Ynglonde, he 
says, 
To kyng Herry the fourth for sham. 

V. 59, whos, P. C. V. 65, whoys, P. C. V. 71, agay, P. C. 
V. 81, sayd the the. P. C. ■ V. 88, on, i. e. one. 

* This is probably corrupted in the MS. for Rng Wid- 
dringUm, who was at the head of the family in the reign 
of K. Edw. III. There were several successively of the 
names of Roger and Ralph, but none of the name of 
Richard, as appears from the genealogies in the Herald's 
office. 



54 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE. 



I wat youe byn great lordes twaw, 

I am a poor squyar of lande ; 
I will never se my captayne fyght on a 
fylde, 95 

And stande my-selffe, and looke on, 
But whyll I may my weppone welde, 

I wyll not ' fayP both harte and hande. 

That day, that day, that dredfull day : 

The first fit * here I fynde. 100 

And youe wyll here any more athe hountyng 
athe Chyviat, 
Yet ys ther mor behynde. 



THE SECOND FIT. 

The Yngglishe men hade ther bowys yebent, 
Ther hartes were good yenoughe ; 

The first of arros that the shote off, 
Seven skore spear-men the sloughe. 

Yet bydys the yerle Doglas uppon the bent, 5 

A captayne good yenoughe, 
And that was sene verament, 

For he wrought hom both woo and wouche. 

The Dogglas pertyd his ost in thre, 

Lyk a cheffe cheften off pryde, 10 

With suar speares off myghtte tre 
The cum in on every syde. 

Thrughe our Yngglishe archery 
Gave many a wounde full wyde ; 

Many a doughete the garde to dy, 15 

Which ganyde them no pryde. 

The Yngglyshe men let thear bowys be, 
And pulde owt brandees that wer bright ; 

It was a hevy syght to se 

Bryght swordes on basnites lyght. 20 

Thorowe ryche male, and myne-ye-ple 
Many sterne the stroke downe streight: 

Many a freyke, that was full free, 
That undar foot dyd lyght. 

At last the Duglas and the Perse met, 25 
Lyk to captayns of myght and mayne ; 

The swapte together tyll the both swat 
With swordes, that wear of fyn myllan. 

V. 3. first, i. e. flight. V. 5, byddys, P. C. V. 17, boys, P. 
C. V. 18, briggt, P. C. V. 21, thorowe, P. C. V. 22, done, 
P. C. V. 26, to, i. e. two. Ibid, and of P. C. 

* Fit, vid. Gloss. 



Thes worthe freckys for to fyght 

Ther-to the wear full fayne, 30 

Tyll the bloode owte off their basnetes sprente, 

As ever dyd heal or rayne. 



Holde the, Perse, sayd the Doglas, 
And i' feth I shall the brynge 

Wher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis 
Of Jamy our Scottish kynge. 



35 



Thoue shalte have thy ransom fre, 

I hight the hear this thinge, 
For the manfullyste man yet art thowe, 

That ever I conqueryd in filde fightyng. 40 

Nay ' then' sayd the lord Perse, 

I tolde it the beforne, 
That I wolde never yeldyde be 

To no man of a woman born. 

With that ther cam an arrowe hastely 45 

Forthe off a mightie wane,* 
Hit hathe strekene the yerle Duglas 

In at the brest bane. 

Thoroue lyvar and longs bathe 

The sharp arrowe ys gane, 50 

That never after in all his lyffe days, 

He spayke mo wordes but ane, 
That was,f Fyghte ye, my merry men, whyllys 
ye may, 

For my lyff days ben gan. 

The Perse leanyde on his brande, 55 

And sawe the Duglas de ; 
He tooke the dede man be the hande, 

And sayd, Wo ys me for the ! 

To have sayved thy lyffe I wold have pertyd 
with 

My landes for years thre, 60 

For a better man of hart, nare of hande 

Was not in all the north countre. 

Off all that se a Skottishe knyght, 

Was callyd Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry, 

He sawe the Duglas to the deth was dyght ; 65 
He spendyd a spear a trusti tre : 

V. 32, ran, P. C. V. 33, helde, P. C. V. 49, thorowe, P. O. 

* Wane, i. e. ane, one, sc. man, an arrow came from a 
mighty one ; from a mighty man. 
f This seems to hay* been a Gloss, added. 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE. 



55 



He rod uppon a corsiare 

Throughe a hondrith archery : 

He never styntyde, nar never blane, 
Tyll he cam to the good lord Perse. 



70 



He set uppone the lord Perse 

A dynte that was full soare ; 
With a suar spear of a myghte tre 

Clean thorow the body he the Perse bore, 

Athe tothar syde, that a man myght se, 75 

A large cloth yard and mare : 
Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Christiante, 

Then that day slain wear ther. 



An archar off Northomberlonde 
Say slean was the lord Perse, 

He bar a bende-bow in his hande, 
Was made off trusti tre : 



80 



An arow, that a cloth yarde was lang, 

To th' hard stele haylde he ; 
A dynt, that was both sad and sore, 85 

He sat on Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry. 

The dynt yt was both sad and sar, 
That he of Mongon-byrry sete ; 

The swane-fethars, that his arrowe bar, 
With his hart blood the wear wete.* 90 

Ther was never a freake wone foot wolde fle, 

But still in stour dyd stand, 
Heawying on yche othar, whyll the myght 
dre, 

With many a bal-ful brande. 

This battell begane in Cbyviat 95 

An owar befor the none, 
And when even song bell was rang 

The battell was nat half done. 

The tooke ' on' on ethar hand 

Be the lyght off the mone ; 100 

Many hade no strenght for to stande, 

In Chyviat the hyllys aboun. 

Of fifteen hondrith archars of Ynglonde 

Went away but fifti and thre ; 
Of twenty hondrith spear-men of Skot- 
londe, 105 

But even five and fifti : 

V. 74, ber, P. C. V. 80, Say, i. e. Sawe. V. 84, haylde, 
P. C. V. 87, sar, P. C. V. 102, abou, P. C. 

* This incident is taken from the battle of Otterbourn ; 
in which Sir Hugh Montgomery, knt. (son of John Lord 
Montgomory) was slain with an arrow. Vid. Crawford's 



But all wear slayne Cheviat within ; 

The hade no strengthe to stand on hie ; 
The chylde may rue that ys un-borne, 

It was the mor pitte. 110 

Thear was slayne with the lord Perse 

Sir John of Agerstone, 
Sir Koge the hinde Hartly, 

Sir Wyllyam the bolde Hearone. 

Sir Jorg the worthe Lovele 115 

A knyght of great renowen, 
Sir Raff the rych Rugbe 

With dyntes wear beaten dowene. 

For Wetharryngton my harte was wo, 
That ever he slayne shulde be ; 120 

For when both his leggis wear hewyne in to, 
Yet he knyled and fought on hys kne. 

Ther was slayne with the dougheti Douglas 

Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry, 
Sir Davye Lwdale, that worthe was, 125 

His sistars son was he : 

Sir Charles a Murre, in that place, 

That never a foot wolde fle ; 
Sir Hewe Maxwell, a lorde he was, 

With the Duglas dyd he dey. 130 

So on the morrowe the mayde them byears 
Off byrch, and hasell so ' gray' ; 

Many wedous with wepyng tears* 
Cam to fach ther makys a-way. 

Tivydale may carpe off care, 135 

Northombarlond may mayk grat mone, 

For towe such captayns, as slayne wear thear, 
On the march perti shall never be none. 

Word ys commen to Edden burrowe, 

To Jamy the Skottishe kyng, 140 

That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the Mer- 
ches, 
He lay slean Chyviot with-in. 



y. 108, strenge by, P. C. V. 115, Ioule, P. C. V. 121, 

in to, i. e. in two. V. 122, kny, P. C. V. 132, gay, P. C. 
V. 136, mon, P. C. V. 138, non, P. C. 

For the names in this page, see the Remarks at the end 
of the next Ballad. 

* A common pleonasm, see the next poem, Fit 2d, v. 
166. So Harding, in his Chronicle, chap. 140, fol. 148, de- 
scribing the death of Richard I. says, 

He shrove him then unto Abbots thre 
With great sobbyng .... and wepyng teares. 

So likewise Cavendish in his Life of Cardinal Wolsey, 
chap. 12, p. 31, 4to. " When the duke heard thi5, he re- 
plied with weeping teares," &c 



56 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 



His handdes did he weal and wryng, 
He sayd, Alas, and woe ys me ! 

Such another captayn Skotland within, 
He sayd, y-feth shud never be. 



145 



Worde ys coinniyu to lovly Londone 
Till the fourth Harry our kyng, 

That lord Perse, leyff-tennante of the Merchis, 
He lay slayne Chyviat within. 150 

God have merci on his soil, sayd kyng Harry, 

Good lord, yf thy will it be ! 
I have a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde, he 
sayd, 

As good as ever was hee : 
But Perse, and I brook my lyffe, 155 

Thy deth well quyte shall be. 

As our noble kyng made his a-vowe, 
Lyke a noble prince of renowen, 

For the deth of the lord Perse, 

He dyd the battel of Hombyll-down : 160 

"Wher syx and thritte Skottish knyghtes 

On a day wear beaten down: 
Glendale glytteryde on ther armor bryght, 

Over castill, towar, and town. 

This was the hontynge off the Cheviat ; 165 

That tear begane this spurn : 
Old men that knowen the grownde well 
yenoughe, 

Call it the Battell of Otterburn. 



At Otterburn began this spurne 

Uppon a monnyn day : 
Ther was the dougghte Doglas slean, 

The Perse never went away. 



170 



Ther was never a tym on the march partes 
Sen the Doglas and the Perse met, 

But yt was marvele, and the redde blude 
ronne not, 175 

As the reane doys in the stret. 

Jhesue Christ our balys bete, 

And to the blys us brynge ! 
Thus was the hountynge of the Chevyat : 

God send us all good ending ! 180 

X** The style of this and the following 
ballad is uncommonly rugged and uncouth, 
owing to their being writ in the very coarsest 
and broadest northern dialect. 

The battle of Hombyll-down or Humbledon, 
was fought Sept. 14, 1402 (anno 3 Hen. IV.), 
wherein the English, under the command of 
the Earl of Northumberland, and his son Hot- 
spur, gained a complete victory over the 
Scots. The village of Humbledon is one 
mile north-west from Wooler, in Northum- 
berland. The battle was fought in the field 
below the village, near the present turnpike 
road, in a spot called ever since Red-Riggs. 
— Humbleton is in Glendale Ward, a dis- 
trict so named in this county, and mentioned 
above in ver. 163. 



II. 



%\t %Mi at WtxMxm. 



The only battle, wherein an Earl of Douglas 
was slain fighting with a Percy, was that of 
Otterbourn, which is the subject of this bal- 
lad. It is here related with the allowable 
partiality of an English poet, and much in 
the same manner as it is recorded in the 
English Chronicles. The Scottish .writers 
have, with a partiality at least as excusable, 
related it no less in their own favour. Luck- 
ily we have a very circumstantial narrative of 
the whole affair from Froissart, a French 
historian, who appears to be unbiassed. 

V. 146, ye seth, P. C. V. 149, cheyff tennante, P. C. 



Froissart's relation is prolix ; I shall there- 
fore give it with a few corrections, as abridged 
by Carte, who has however had recourse to 
other authorities, and differs from Froissart 
in some things, which I shall note in the 
margin. 

In the twelfth year of Richard II., 1388, 
"The Scots taking advantage of the confusions 
of this nation, and falling with a party into 
the Westmarches, ravaged the country about 
Carlisle, and carried off three hundred pri- 
soners. It was with a much greater force, 
headed by some of the principal nobility, 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 



57 



that, in the beginning of August,* they in- 
vaded Northumberland ; and, having wasted 
part of the county of Durham,! advanced to 
the gates of Newcastle; where, in a skirmish, 
they took a ' penon' or colours J belonging to 
Henry Lord Percy, surnamed Hotspur, son 
to the Earl of Northumberland. In their re- 
treat home, they attacked a castle near Otter- 
bourn ; and, in the evening of Aug. 9 (as 
the English writers say ; or rather, according 
to Froissart, Aug. 15), after an unsuccessful 
assault, were surprised in their camp, which 
was very strong, by Henry, who at the first 
onset put them into a good deal of confusion. 
But James, Earl of Douglas, rallying his 
men, there ensued one of the best-fought 
actions that happened in that age; both 
armies showing the utmost bravery \\ the 
Earl Douglas himself being slain on the spot;|| 
the Earl of Murrey mortally wounded ; and 
Hotspur,ff with his brother Ralph Percy, 
taken prisoners. These disasters on both 
sides have given occasion to the event of the 
engagement's being disputed; Froissart (who 
derives his relation from a Scotch knight, 
two gentlemen of the same country, and as 
many of Foix)** affirming that the Scots re- 
mained masters of the field: and the English 
writers insinuating the contrary. These last 
maintain that the English had the better of 
the day: but night coming on, some of the 
northern lords, coming with the Bishop of 
Durham to their assistance, killed many of 
them by mistake, supposing them to be Scots; 

* Froissart speaks of both parties (consisting in all of 
more than 40,000 men) as entering England at the same 
time ; but the greater part by way of Carlisle. 

•f And, according to the ballad, that part of Northum- 
berland called Bamboroughshire ; a large tract of land so 
named from the town and castle of Bamborough, formerly 
the residence of the Northumberland Kings. 

% This circumstance is omitted in the ballad. Hotspur 
and Douglas were two young warriors much of the same 
age. 

\ Froissart says the English exceeded the Scots in num- 
ber three to one, but that these had the advantage of the 
ground, and were also fresh from sleep, while the English 
were greatly fatigued with their previous march. 

|| By Henry L. Percy, according to this ballad, and our 
old English historians, as Stow, Speed, &c. but borne down 
by numbers, if we may believe Froissart. 

\ Hotspur (after a very sharp conflict) was taken prison- 
er by John Lord Montgomery, whose eldest son, Sir Hugh, 
was slain in the same action with an arrow, according to 
Crawford's Peerage (and seems also to be alluded to in the 
foregoing ballad but taken prisoner and exchanged for 
Hotspur, according to this ballad. 

** Froissart (according to the Eng. Translation) says he 
had his account from two squires of England, and from a 
knight and squire of Scotland, soon after the battle. 



and the Earl of Dunbar, at the same time 
falling on another side upon Hotspur, took 
him and his brother prisoners, and carried 
them off while both parties were fighting. 
It is at least certain, that immediately after 
this battle the Scots engaged in it made the 
best of their way home : and the same party 
was taken by the other corps about Carlisle." 

Such is the account collected by Carte, in 
which he seems not to be free from partiality: 
for prejudice must own that Froissart's cir- 
circumstantial account carries a great appear- 
ance of truth, and he gives the victory to the 
Scots. He however does justice to the cour- 
age of both parties; and represents their mu- 
tual generosity in such a light, that the pre- 
sent age might edify by the example. " The 
Englysshmen on the one partye, and the 
Scottes On the other partye, are good men of 
warre, for whan they mete, there is a hard 
fighte without sparynge. There is no hoo* 
betwene them as long as speares, swordes, 
axes, or dager wyll endure ; but lay on eche 
upon other : and whan they be well beaten, 
and that the one party hath obtayned the vic- 
tory, they than glorifye so in their dedes of 
armes, and are so joyfull, that suche as be 
taken, they shall be ransomed or they go 
out of the felde ;f so that shortely eche of 
them is so contente with other, that at their de- 
partynge curtoysly they will saye, God thanke 
you. But in fyghtynge one with another 
there is no playe, nor sparynge." Froissart's 
Cronycle (as translated by Sir Johan Bour- 
chier Lord Beruers), cap. cxlij. 

The following Ballad is (in this present 
edition) printed from an old MS. in the Cot- 
ton Library^ (Cleopatra, c. iv.) and contains 
many stanzas more than were in the former 
copy, which was transcribed from a MS. in 
the Harleian Collection [No. 293, fol. 52.] 
In the Cotton MS. this poem has no title, but 
in the Harleian copy it is thus inscribed, 
" A songe made in R. 2 his tyme of the bat- 
tele of Otterburne, betweene Lord Henry 
Percye, Earle of Northomberlande, and the 
Earle Douglas of Scotlande, Anno 1388." 



* So in Langham's letter concerning Q. Elizabeth's en- 
tertainment at Killingworth castle, 1575, 12mo. p. 61 
" Heer was no ho in devout drynkyng." 

f i. e. They scorn to take the advantage, or to keep them 
lingering in long captivity. 

J The notice of this MS. I must acknowledge with many 
other obligations, owing to the friendship of Thomas Tyr- 
whitt, Esq., late Clerk of the House of Commons. 



58 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 



But this title is erroneous, and added by 

some ignorant transcriber of after-times ; for, 

1. The battle was not fought by the Earl of 
Northumberland, who was absent, but by his 
son Sir Henry Percy, Knt. surnamed Hot- 
spur, (in those times they did not usually 
give the title of lord to an earl's eldest son.) 

2. Although the battle was fought in Richard 
II.'s time, the song is evidently of later date, 
as appears from the poet's quoting the chron- 
icles in Pt. II. ver. 26 ; and speaking of Per- 
cy in the last stanza as dead. It was how- 
ever written in all likelihood as early as the 
foregoing song, if not earlier. This perhaps 
may be inferred from the minute circum- 
stances with which the story is related, many 
of which are recorded in no chronicle, and 
were probably preserved in the memory of 
old people. It will be observed that the 
authors of these two poems have some lines 
in common ; but which of them was the 
original proprietor must depend upon their 
priority ; and this the sagacity of the reader 
must determine. 

Yt felle abowght the Lamasse tyde, 
When husbonds wynn ther haye, 

The dowhtye Dowglass bowynd hym to ryde, 
In Ynglond to take a praye ; 

The yerlle of Fyffe,* withowghten stryffe, 5 
He bowynd hym over Sulway :f 

The grete wold ever together ryde ; 
That race they may rue for aye. 



Over ' Ottercap' hyll theyj came in, 
And so dowyn by Rodelyffecragge, 



10 



V. 2, winn their heaye, Harl. MS. This is the North- 
umberland phrase to this day: by which they always 
express " getting in their hay." 

* Robert Stewart, second son of King Robert IT. 

t i. e. "over Solway frith." This evidently refers to the 
other division of the Scottish army, which came in by 

way of Carlisle. Bourynd, or Bounde him : i. e. hied 

him. Vid. Gloss. 

% They : sc. the Earl of Douglas and his party. The 

several stations here mentioned are well-known places in 
Northumberland. Ottercap-hill is in the parish of Kirk- 
Whelpington, in Tynedale-ward. Rodeliffe- (or, as it is 
more usually pronounced, Rodeley-) Cragge is a noted cliff 
near Rodeley, a small village in the parish of Hartburn, in 
Morpeth-ward : it lies south-east of Ottercap, and has, 
within these few years, been distinguished by a small tower 
erected by Sir Walter Elacket, Bart., which, in Armstrong's 
map of Northumberland, is pompously called Rodeley- 
castle. Green Ley ton is another small village in the same 

parish of Hartburn, and is south-east of Rodeley. Both 

the original MSS. read here corruptly, lloppertop and 
Lynton. 



Upon Grene ' Leyton' they lighted dowyn, 
Styrande many a stagge ; 

And boldely brent Northomberlonde, 

And haryed many a towyn ; 
They dyd owr Ynglyssh men grete wrange, 

To battell that were not bowyn. 16 

Than spake a berne upon the bent, 

Of comforte that was not colde, 
And sayd, We have brente Northomberlond, 

We have all welth in holde. 20 

Now we have haryed all Bamboroweshyre, 
All the welth in the worlde have wee ; 

I rede we ryde to Newe Castell, 
So styll and stalwurthlye. 

Uppon the morowe, when it was daye, 25 
The standards schone fulle bryght ; 

To the Newe Castelle the toke the waye, 
And thether they cam fulle ryght. 

Sir Henry Percy laye at the Newe Castelle, 
I telle yow withowtten drede ; 30 

He had byn a march-man* all hys dayes, 
And kepte Barwyke upon Twede. 

To the Newe Castell when they cam, 
The Skottes they cryde on hyght, 

Syr Harye Percy, and thow byste within, 35 
Com to the fylde, and fyght : 

For we have brente Northomberlonde, 

Thy eritage good and ryght ; 
And syne my logeyng I have take, 

With my brande dubbyd many a knyght. 

Sir Harry Percy cam to the walles, 41 

The Skottyssh oste for to se ; 
" And thow hast brente Northomberlond, 

Full sore it rewyth me. 

Yf thou hast haryed all Bambarowe shyre, 45 
Thow hast done me grete envye ; 

For the trespasse thow hast me done, 
The tone of us schall dye." 



V. 12, This line is corrupt in both the MSS. viz., " Many 
a styrande stage."— Stags have been killed within the pre- 
sent century on some of the large wastes in NorthumbeT' 
land. V. 39, syne seems here to mean since. 

* Marche-man, i. e. a scowrer of the marches. 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 



59 



Where schall I byde the ? sayd the Dowglas, 
Or where wylte thow come to me ? 50 

"At Otter borne in the hygh way,* 
Ther maist thow well logeed be. 



The roo full rekeles ther sche rinnes, 
To make the game and glee : 

The fawkon and the fesaunt both, 
Amonge on the holtes on ' hee.' 



55 



Ther maist thow have thy welth at wyll, 

Well looged ther niaisj; be. 
Yt schall not be long, or I com the tyll," 

Sayd Syr Harry Percye. 60 

Ther schall I byde the, sayd the Dowglas, 

By the fayth of my bodye. 
Thether schall I com, sayd Syr Harry Percy; 

My trowth I plyght to the. 

A pype of wyne he gave them over the 
walles, 65 

For soth, as I yow saye : 
Ther he mayd the Douglas drynke, 

And all hys oste that daye. 

The Dowglas turnyd hym homewarde agayne, 
For soth withowghten naye, 70 

He tooke his logeyng at Oterborne 
Uppon a Wedyns-day : 

And there he pyght hys standerd dowyn, 

Hys gettyng more and lesse, 
And syne he warned hys men to goo 75 

To chose ther geldyngs gresse. 

A Skottysshe knyght hoved upon the bent, 

A wache I dare well saye : 
So was he ware on the noble Percy 

In the dawnynge of the daye. 80 

He prycked to his pavyleon dore, 

As faste as he myght ronne, 
Awaken, Dowglas, cryed the knyght, 

For hys love, that syttes yn trone. 

Awaken, Dowglas, cryed the knyght, 85 

For thow maiste waken wyth wynne ; 

Yender have I spyed the prowde Percy, 
And seven standardes wyth hym. 

V. 53, Roe-bucks were to be found upon the wastes not 

far from Hexham, in the reign of Geo. I. Whitfield, 

Esq., of Whitfield, is said to have destroyed the last of them. 
V. 56, hye, MSS. V. 77, upon the best bent, MS. 

* Otterbourn is near the old Waiting-street road, in the 
parish of Elsdon. The Scots were encamped in a grassy 
plain near the river Read. The place where the Scots and 
English fought is still called Battle Rigs. 



Nay by my trowth, the Douglas sayed, 
It ys but a fayned taylle : 90 

He durste not loke on my bred banner, 
For all Ynglonde so haylle. 

Was I not yester daye at the Newe Castell, 

That stonds so fayre on Tyne ? 
For all'the men the Percy hade, 95 

He cowde not garre me ones to dyne. 

He stepped owt at hys pavelyon dore, 

To loke and it were lesse ; 
Araye yow, lordyngs, one and all, 

For here bygynnes no peysse 100 

The yerle of Mentayne,* thow art my erne, 

The forwarde I gyve to the : 
The yerlle of Huntlay cawte and kene, 

He schall wyth the be. 

The lorde of Bowghanf in armure bryght 105 

On the other hand he schall be ; 

Lord Jhonstone and Lorde Maxwell, 

i * 

They to schall be wyth me. 

Swynton fayre fylde upon your pryde 
To batell make yow bowen : 110 

Syr Davy Scotte, Syr Walter Stewarde, 
Syr Jhon of Agurstane. 



The Perssy came byfore hys oste, 
Wych was ever a gentyll knyght, 

Upon the Dowglas lowde can he crye, 
I wyll holde that I have hyght : 

For thow haste brente Northumberlonde, 5 

And done me grete envye ; 
For thys trespasse thou hast me done, 

The tone of us schall dye. 

The Dowglas answerde hym agayne 

With grete wurds up on ' hee,' 10 

And sayd, I have twenty agaynst ' thy' onej 
Byholde and thow maiste see. 

Wyth that the Percye was grevyd sore, 
For sothe as I yow saye : 

V. 1, 13, Pearcy, al. MS. V. 4, 1 will hold to what I have 
promised. V. 10, hye, MSS. V. 11, the one, MS. 

* The Earl of Menteith. f The Lord Buchan. 

% He probably magnifies his strength to induce him to 
surrender. 



60 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 



[* He lyghted dowyn upon his fote, 
And sehoote his horssc clone away. 



jr. 



Every man savre that he dyd soo, 

That ryall wiw ever in rowght ; 
Every man sehoote hys horsse him froo, 

And lyght hym rowynde abowght. 20 

Thus Syr Hary Percye toke the fylde, 

For soth, as I yow saye : 
Jesu Cryste in hevyn on hyght 

Dyd helpe hym well that daye. 

But nyne thowzand, ther was no moo ; 25 

The cronykle wyll not layne: 
Forty thowsande Skottes and fowre 

That day fowght them agayne. 

But when the batell byganne to joyne. 

In hast ther came a knyght, 30 

' Then' letters fayre furth hath he tayne, 

And thus he sayd full ryght : 

My lorde, your father he gretes yow well, 

Wyth many a noble knyght ; 
He desyres yow to byde 35 

That he may see thys fyght. 

The Baron of Grastoke ys com owt of the west, 

With him a noble companye ; 
All they loge at your fathers thys nyght, 

And the battell fayne wold they see. 40 

For Jesu's love, sayd Syr Ilarye Percy, 

That dyed for yow and me, 
Wende to my lorde my father agayne, 

And saye thou saw me not with yee : 

My trowth ys plight to yonne Skottysh 
knyght, 45 

It nedes me not to layne, 
That I schulde byde hym upon thys bent, 

And I have hys trowth agayne : 

And if that I wende off thys grownde 
For soth unfoughten awaye, 50 

He wolde me call but a kowarde knyght 
In hys londe another daye. 

Yet had I lever to be rynde and rente, 

By Mary that mykel maye ; 
Then ever my manhood schulde be reprovyd 55 

Wyth a Skotte another daye. 



* All that follows, included in brackets, was not in the 
first edition. 



Wherefore schote, archars, for my sake, 

And let scharpe arowes flee : 
Mynstrells, play up for your waryson, 

And well quyt it schall be. GO 

Every man thynke on hys trewe love, 
And marke hym to the Trenite : 

For to God I make myne avowe 
Thys day wyll I not fle. 

The blodye harte in the Dowglas amies, 65 

Hys standerde stode on hye ; 
That every man myght full well knowe : 

By syde stode Starres thre : 



The whyte Lyon on the Ynglysh parte, 

Forsoth as I yow sayne ; 
The Lucetts and the Cressawnts both : 

The Skotts faught them agayne.*] 



70 



Uppon sent Andrewe lowde cane they crye, 
And thrysse they scbowte on hyght, 

And syne marked them one owr Ynglysshe 
men, 75 

As I have told yow ryght. 

Sent George the bryght owr ladies knyght, 

To name theyf were full fayne, 
Owr Ynglysshe men they cryde on hyght, 

And thrysse the schowtte agayne. 80 

Wyth that scharpe arowes bygan to flee, 

I tell yow in sertayne ; 
Men of arrnes byganne to joyne ; 

Many a dowghty man was ther slayne. 

The Percy and the Dowglas mette, 85 

That ether of other was fayne : 
They schapped together, whyll that the swette, 

With swords of fyne Collayne ; 

Tyll the bloode from ther bassonnetts ranne, 
As the roke doth in the rayne. 90 

Yelde the to me, sayd the Dowglas, 
Or els thow schalt be slayne : 



* The ancient Arms of Douglas are pretty accurately 
emblazoned in the former stanza, and if the readings were, 
The crowned harte, and Above stode starres thre, it would 
be minutely exact at this day. — As for the Percy family, 
one of their ancient Badges or Cognizances was a white Ly<m 
Statant, and the Silver Crescent continues to be used by 
them to this day : they also give three Luces Argent for one 
of their quarters. 

t i. e. The English. 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 



61 



For I see, by thy bryght bassonet, 
Thow art sum man of myght, 

And so I do by thy burnysshed brande, 
Thow art an yerle, or ells a knyght.* 



95 



By my good faythe, sayd the noble Percy, 

Now haste thou rede full ryght, 
Yet wyll I never yelde me to the, 

Whyll I may stonde and fyght. 100 

They swapped together, whyll that they swette, 
Wyth swordes scharpe and long ; 

Yeh on other so faste they beette, 

Tyll ther helmes cam in peyses dowyn. 

The Percy was a man of strenghth, 105 

I tell yow in thys stounde, 
He smote the Dowglas at the swordes length, 

That he felle to the growynde. 

The sworde was scharpe and sore can byte, 
I tell yow in sertayne; 110 

To the harte, he cowde hym srnyte, 
Thus was the Dowglas slayne. 

The stonderds stode styll on eke syde, 

With many a grevous grone ; 
Ther the fowght the day, and all the 
nyght, 115 

And many a dowghty man was ' slone'. 

Ther was no freke, that ther wolde flye, 
But styflly in stowre can stond, 

Ychone hewyng on other whyll they myght 
drye, 
Wyth many a bayllefull bronde. 120 

Ther was slayne upon the Skottes syde, 

For soth and sertenly, 
Syr James a Dowglas ther was slayne, 

That daye that he cowde dye. 



The yerle Mentaye of he was slayne, 
Grysely groned uppon the growynd ; 

Syr Davy Scotte, Syr Walter Steward, 
Syr ' John' of Agurstonne.f 



125 



V. 116, slayne, MSS. V. 124, i. e. He died that day. 

* Being all in armour he could not know him. 

t Our old minstrel repeats these names, as llomer and 
Virgil do those of their heroes : 

" — fortemque Gyani, fortemque Cloanthum, &c, &c. 

Both the MSS. read here, "Sir James," but see above, 
pt. I. ver. 112. 



Syr Charlies Morrey in that place, 
That never a fote wold flye ; 130 

Sir Hughe Maxwelle, a lord he was, 
With the Dowglas dyd he dye. 

Ther was slayne upon the Skottes syde, 

For soth as I yow saye, 
Of fowre and forty thowsande Scotts 135 

Went but eyghtene awaye. 

Ther was slayne upon the Ynglysshe syde, 

For soth and sertenlye, 
A gentell knyght, Sir John Fitz-hughe, 

Yt was the more petye. 140 

Syr Jame3 Harebotell ther was slayne, 

For hym ther hartes were sore, 
The gen tyll ' Lovelle' ther was slayne, 

That the Perceyes standerd bore. 

Ther was slayne uppon the Ynglysshperte, 
For soth as I yow saye : 146 

Of nyne thowsand Ynglyssh men 
Fyve hondert cam awaye : 



The other were slayne in the fylde, 
Cryste kepe their sowles from wo, 

Seying ther was so few fryndes 
Agaynst so many a foo. 



150 



Then one the morne they mayd them beeres 

Of byrch, and haysell graye ; 
Many a wydowe with wepyng teyres 155 

Ther makes they fette awaye. 

Thys fraye bygan at Otterborne, 
Bytwene the nyghte and the day : 

Ther the Dowglas lost hys lyfe, 

And the Percy was lede awaye.* 160 

Then was ther a Scottyshe prisoner tayne, 
Syr Hughe Mongomery was hys name, 

For soth as I yow saye, 

He borowed the Percy home agayne.f 



V. 143, Covelle, MS. — For the names in this page see the 
Remarks at the end of this ballad. V. 153, one, i. e. on. 

* sc. Captive. 

f In the Cotton MS. is the following note on ver. 164, in 
an ancient hand : 

" Syr Hewe Mongomery takyn prizonar, was delyvered 
for the restorynge of Perssy." 



62 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 



Now let us all for the Percy praye 165 

To Jesu most of myght, 
To bryng his sowle to the blysse of heven, 

For he was a gentyll knight. 

*** Most of the names in the two preced- 
ing ballads, are found to have belonged to 
families of distinction in the North, as may 
be made appear from authentic records. 
Thus in 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE. 

Ver. 112, Agerstone.] The family of Hag- 
gerston of Haggerston, near Berwick, has 
been seated there for many centuries, and 
etill remains. Thomas Haggerston was 
among the commissioners returned for North- 
umberland in 12 Hen. VI., 1433. (Fuller's 
Worthies, p. 310.) The head of this family 
at present is Sir Thomas Haggerston, Bart, 
of Haggerston above mentioned. 

N. B. The name is spelt Agerstone, as in 
the text, in Leland's Itinerary, vol. vii. p. 54. 

Ver. 113, Hartly.] Hartley is a village near 
the sea in the barony of Tinemouth, about 7 
miles from North Shields. It probably gave 
name to a family of note at that time. 

Ver. 114, Hearone.] This family, one of 
the most ancient, was long of great consider- 
ation, in Northumberland. Haddeston, the 
Caput BaronicB of Heron, was their ancient 
residence. It descended, 25 Edw. I., to the 
heir general Emiline Heron, afterwards Bar- 
oness Darcy. — Ford, &c. and Bockenfield (in. 
com. eodum) went at the same time to Roger 
Heron, the heir male ; whose descendants 
were summoned to Parliament : Sir "William 
Heron, of Ford Castle, being summoned 44 
Edw. III. Ford Castle hath descended by 
heirs general to the family of Delaval (men- 
tioned in the next article.) — Robert Heron, 
Esq., who died at Newark, in 1753 (father 
of the Right Hon. Sir Richard Heron, Bart.), 
was heir male of the Herons of Bockenfield, 
a younger branch of this family. — Sir Thom- 
as Heron Middleton, Bart., is heir male of the 
Herons of Chip-chase, another branch of the 
Herons of Ford Castle. 

Ver. 115, Lovele.] Job. de Lavale, miles, 
was sheriff of Northumberland, 34 Hen. VII. 
Joh. de Lavale, mil., in the 1 Edw. VI. and 

Y. 165, Pcrcyes, Ilarl. MS. 



afterwards. (Fuller, 313.) In Nicholson 
this name is spelt Da Lovel, p. 305. This 
seems to be the ancient family of Delavel, of 
Seaton Delavel, in Northumberland, whoso 
ancestor was one of the twenty-five barons 
appointed to be guardians of Magna Charts. 

Ver. 117, Rugbe.] The ancient family of 
Rokeby, in Yorkshire, seems to be here in- 
tended. In Thoresby's Ducat. I eod. p. 253. 
fol. is a genealogy of this house, by which it 
appears that the head of the family, about 
the time when this ballad was written, was 
Sir Ralph Rokeby, Knt. Ralph being a com- 
mon name of the Rokebys. 

Ver. 119, Wetharrington.] Rog. de Wid- 
rington was sheriff of Northumberland in 36 
of Edw. III. (Fuller, p. 311.) Joh. de Wid- 
rington in 11 of Hen. IV., and many others 
of the same name afterwards. See also 
Nicholson, p. 331. Of this family was the 
late Lord Witherington. 

Ver. 124, Mongon-byrry.] Sir Hugh Mont- 
gomery was son of John Lord Montgomery, 
the lineal ancestor of the present Earl of Eg- 
linton. 

Ver. 125, Lwdale.] The ancient family of the 
Liddels were originally from Scotland, where 
they were Lords of Liddell Castle, and of the 
barony of Buff. (Vid. Collins's Peerage.) The 
head of this family is the present Lord Ra- 
vensworth, of Ravensworth Castle, in the 
county of Durham. 



IN THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 

Ver. 101, Mentaye.] At the time of this 
battle, the Earldom of Menteith was possess- 
ed by Robert Stewart, Earl of Fife, third son 
of King Robert II., who, according to Buch- 
anan, commanded the Scots that entered by 
Carlisle. But our minstrel had probably an 
eye to the family of Graham, who had this 
earldom when the ballad was written. See 
Douglas's Peerage of Scotland, 1764, fol. 

Ver. 103, Huntleye.] This shows this bal- 
lad was not composed before 1449 ; for in 
that year Alexander Lord of Gordon and 
Huntley was created Earl of Huntley by 
King James II. 

Ver. 105, Bowghan.] The Earl of Buchan . 
at that time was Alexander Stewart, fourth 
son of King Robert II. 

Ver. 107. Jhonstone— Maxwell.] These 



THE JEW'S DAUGHTER. 



63 



two families of Johnstone, Lord of Johnston, 
and Maxwell, Lord of Maxwell, were always 
very powerful on the borders. Of the former 
family was Johnston Marquis of Annandale ; 
of the latter was Maxwell Earl of Nithsdale. 
I cannot find that any chief of this family 
was named Sir Hugh ; but Sir Herbert Max- 
well was about this time much distinguished. 
(See Doug.) This might have been original- 
ly written Sir H. Maxwell, and by tran- 
scribers converted into Sir Hugh. So above, 
in No I. v. 90, Richard is contracted into 
Ric. 

Ver. 109, Swynton,] i. e. The Laird of 
Swintone ; a small village within the Scottish 
border, 3 miles from Norham. This family 
still subsists, and is very ancient. 

Ver. Ill, Scotte.] The illustrious family 
of Scot, ancestors of the Duke of Buccleugh, 
always made a great figure on the borders. 
Sir Walter Scot was at the head of this fam- 
ily when the battle was fought ; but his great- 
grandson, Sir David Scot, was the hero of 
that house when the ballad was written. 

Ibid. Stewarde.] The person here designed 
was probably Sir Walter Stewart, Lord of 
Dal&winton and Gairlies, who was eminent at 
that time. (See Doug.) From him is de- 
scended the present Earl of Galloway. 



Ver. 112, Agurstone.] The seat of this fam- 
ily was sometimes subject to the Kings of 
Scotland. Thus Richardus Hagerstoun, miles, 
is one of the Scottish knights who signed a 
treaty with the English in 1249, temp. Hen. 
III. (Nicholson, p. 2, note.) It was the fato 
of many parts of Northumberland often to 
change their masters, according as the Scot- 
tish or English arms prevailed. 

Ver. 129, Morrey.] The person here meant 
was probably Sir Charles Murray of Cock- 
poole, who flourished at that time, and was 
ancestor of the Murrays some time Earls of 
Annandale. See Doug. Peerage. 

Ver. 139, Fitz-hughe.] Dugdale (in his 
Baron, vol. i. p. 403) informs us that John, 
son of Henry Lord Fitzhugh, was killed at 
the battle of Otterbourne. This was a North- 
umberland family. Vid. Dugd. p. 403, col. 
1, and Nicholson, pp. 33, 60. 

Ver. 141, Harebotell.] Harbottle is a vil- 
lage upon the river Coquet, about 10 miles 
west of Rothbury. The family of Harbottle 
was once considerable in Northumberland. 
(See Fuller, pp. 312, 313.) A daughter of 
Guischard Harbottle, Esq., married Sir 
Thomas Percy, knt., son of Henry, the fifth, 
and father of Thomas, the seventh, Earls of 
Northumberland. 



III. 



%\t ifto'jf Jstt^tw, 



A SCOTTISH BALLAD, 



Is founded upon the supposed practice 

of the Jews in crucifying or otherwise mur- 
thering Christian children, out of hatred to 
the religion of their parents ; a practice which 
hath been always alleged in excuse for the 
cruelties exercised upon that wretched peo- 
ple, but which probably never happened in a 
single instance. For, if we consider, on the 
one hand, the ignorance and superstition of 
the times when such stories took their rise, 
the virulent prejudices of the monks who re- 
cord them, and the eagerness with which they 
would be catched up by the barbarous popu- 
lace as a pretence for plunder ; on the other 
hand, the great danger incurred by the per- 
9 



petrators, and the inadequate motives they 
could have to excite them to a crime of so 
much horror ; we may reasonably conclude 
the whole charge to be groundless and mali- 
cious. 

The following ballad is probably built upon 
some Italian Legend, and bears a great resem- 
blance to the Prioresse's Tale in Chaucer: 
the poet seems also to have had an eye to the 
known story of Hugh of Lincoln, a child 
said to have been there murthered by the 
Jews in the reign of Henry III. The con- 
clusion of this ballad appears to be wanting : 
what it probably contained may be seen in 
Chaucer. As for Mirryland Toun, it is pro- 



64 



SIR CAULINE. 



bably a corruption of Milan (called by the 
Dutch Meylandt) Town : the Pa is evidently 
the river Po, although the Adigc, not the Po, 
runs through Milan. 

Printed froma MS. copysent from Scotland. 



The rain rins doun through Mirry-land toune, 

Sae dois it doune the Pa : 
Sae dois the lads of Mirry-land toune, 

Quhan they play at the ba\ 

Than out and cam the Jewis dochter, 5 

Said, Will ye cum in and dine ? 

" I winnae cum in, I cannae cum in, 
"Without my play-feres nine." 



Scho powd an apple reid and white 
To intice the zong thing in : 

Scho powd an apple white and reid, 
And that the sweit bairne did win. 



LO 



And scho has taine out a little pen-knife, 

And low down by her gair, 
Scho has twin'd the zong thing and his 
life ; 15 

A word he nevir spak mair. 

And out and cam the thick thick bluid, 

And out and cam the thin ; 
And out and cam the bonny herts bluid : 

Thair was nae life left in. 20 

Scho laid him on a dressing borde, 
And drest him like a swine, 



And laughing said, Gae nou and pley 
With zour sweit play-feres nine. 

Scho rowd him in a cake of lead, 25 

Bade him lie stil and sleip. 
Scho cast him in a deip draw-well, 

Was fifty fadom deip. 

Quhan bells wer rung, and mass was sung, 
And every lady went hame : 30 

Than ilka lady had her zong sonne, 
Bot Lady Helen had nane. 



Scho rowd hir mantil hir about, 
And sair sair gan she weip : 

And she ran into the Jewis castel, 
Quhan they wer all asleip. 



35 



My bonny Sir Hew, my pretty Sir Hew, 

I pray thee to me speik. 
" lady, rinn to the deip draw-well, 

Gin ze zour sonne wad seik." 40 

Lady Helen ran to the deip draw-well, 

And knelt upon her kne : 
My bonny Sir Hew, and ze be here, 

I pray thee speik to me. 

" The lead is wondrous heavy, mither, 45 

The well is wondrous deip, 
A keen pen-knife sticks in my hert, 

A word I dounae spiek. 

Gae hame, gae hame, my mither deir, 

Fetch me my windling sheet, 50 

And at the back o' Mirry-land toun 
Its thair we twa sail meet." 



IV. 



Sir (talitu. 



This old romantic tale was preserved in the 
Editor's folio MS., but in so very defective 
and mutilated a condition (not from any 
chasm in the MS., but from great omission in 
the transcript, probably copied from the 
faulty recitation of some illiterate minstrel), 
and the whole appeared so far short of the 
perfection it seemed to deserve, that the 



Editor was tempted to add several stanzas in 
the first part, and still more in the second, 
to connect and complete the story in the 
manner which appeared to him most inter- 
esting and affecting. 

There is something peculiar in the metre 
of this old ballad : it is not unusual to meet 
with redundant stanzas of six lines; but th« 



SIR CAULINE. 



65 



occasional insertion of a double third or 
fourth line, as ver. 31, &c., is an irregularity 
I do not remember to have seen elsewhere. 

It may be proper to inform the reader be- 
fore he cornea to Pt. 2, v. 110, 111, that the 
Round Table was not peculiar to the reign of 
King Arthur, but was common in all the ages 
of Chivalry. The proclaiming a great tour- 
nament (probably with some peculiar solem- 
nities) was called " holding a Round Table." 
Dugdale tells us that the great baron Roger de 
Mortimer " having procured the honour of 
knighthood to be conferred ' on his thre 
sons' by K. Edw. I., he, at his own costs, 
caused a tourneament to be held at Kenil- 
worth ; where he sumptuously entertained 
an hundred knights, and as many ladies, for 
three days ; the like whereof was never be- 
fore in England ; and there began the Round 
Table (so called by reason that the place 
wherein they practised those feats was envi- 
roned with a strong wall made in a round 
form :) And upon the fourth day, the golden 
lion, in sign of triumph, being yielded to 
him ; he carried it (with all the company) to 
"Warwick."— It may further be added, that 
Matthew Paris frequently calls justs and 
tournaments Hastiludia Mensce Rotundce. 

As to what will be observed in this ballad 
of the art of healing being practised by a 
young princes3 ; it is no more than what is 
usual in all the old romances, and was con- 
formable to real manners : it being a prac- 
tice derived from the earliest times among 
all the Gothic and Celtic nations, for women 
even of the highest rank, to exercise the art 
of surgery. In the Northern Chronicles we 
always find the young damsels stanching the 
wounds of their lovers, and the wives those 
of their husbands.* And even so late as 
time of Queen Elizabeth, it is mention 
among the accomplishments of the ladies of 
her court, that the " eldest of them are skil- 
ful in surgery." See Harrison's Description 
of England, prefixed to Hollingshed's Chron- 
icle, &c. 

THE FIRST PART. 

In Ireland, ferr over the sea, 
There dwelleth a bonnye kinge ; 

And with him a yong and comlye knighte, 
Men call him Syr Cauline. 



the 

mod 



* See Northern Antiquities, &c, vol. i. p. 318, vol. ii. p. 
100, Mtimoires de la Chevalerie, torn. i. p. 44. 



The kinge had a ladye to his daughter, 
In fashyon she hath no peere ; 

And princely wightes that ladye wooed 
To be theyr wedded feere. 

Syr Cauline loveth her best of all, 
But nothing durst he saye ; 

Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man, 
But deerlye he lovde this may. 

Till on a daye it so beffell, 
Great dill to him was dight ; 

The maydens love removde his mynd, 
To care-bed went the knighte. 



10 



15 



One while he spred his armes him fro, 

One while he spred them nye : 
And aye ! but I winne that ladyes love, 

For dole now I mun die. 20 

And whan our parish-masse was done, 

Our kinge was bowne to dyne : 
He sayes, Where is Syr Cauline, 

That is wont to serve the wyne ? 

Then aunswerde him a courteous knighte, 25 
And fast his handes gan wringe : 

Sir Cauline is s ; cke, and like to dye 
Without a good leechlnge. 

Fetche me downe my daughter deere, 

She is a leeche fulle fine : 30 

Goe take him doughe, and the baken bread, 
And serve him with the wyne soe red ; 
Lothe I were him to tine. 



Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes, 
Her maydens followyng nye : 

O well, she sayth, how doth my lord ? 
O sicke, thou fayr ladye. 



35 



Nowe ryse up wightlye, man for shame, 

Never lye soe cowardlee ; 
For it is told in my fathers halle, 40 

You dye for love of mee. 

Fayre ladye, it is for your love 

That all this dill I drye : 
For if you wold comfort me with a kisse, 
Then were I brought from bale to blisse, 45 

No lenger wold I lye. 

Sir knighte, my father is a kinge, 
I am his onlye heire ; 



66 SIR CAULINE. 


Alas ! and well you knowe, syr knighte, 


And soe fast he called on Syr Cauline, 90 


I never can be youre fere. 50 


O man, I rede thee flye, 




For ' but' if cryance comes till my heart, 


ladye, thou art a kinges daughter, 


I weene but thou mun dye. 


And I am not thy peere, 




But let me doe some deedes of armes 


He sayth, ' No' cryance comes till my heart, 


To be your bacheleere. 


Nor in fayth, I wyll not flee ; 95 




For, cause thou minged not Christ before, 


Some deedes of armes if thou wilt doe, 55 


The less me dreadeth thee. 


My bacheleere to bee, 




But ever and aye my heart wold rue, 


The Elridge knighte, he pricked his steed ; 


Giff harm shold happe to thee, 


Syr Cauline bold abode : 




Then either shooke his trustye speare, 100 


Upon Elridge hill there groweth a thorne, 


And the timber those two children* bare 


Upon the mores brodinge ; 60 


Soe soone in sunder slode. 


And dare ye, syr knighte, wake there all 




nighte 


Then tooke they out theyr two good swordes, 


Untill the fayre morninge ? 


And layden on full faste, 




Till helme and hawberke, mail and sheelde, 


For the Eldridge knighte, so mickle of mighte, 


They all were well-nye brast. 106 


Will examine you beforne : 




And never man bare life a.waye, 65 


The Eldridge knight was mickle of might, 


But he did him scath and scorne. 


And stifle in stower did stande, 




But Syr Cauline with a ' backward' stroke 


That knighte he is a fond paynim, 
And large of limb and bone ; 


He smote off his right hand ; 110 


That soone he with paine and lacke of bloud 


And but if heaven may be thy speede, 


Fell downe on that lay-land. 


Thy life it is but gone. 70 






Then up Syr Cauline lift his brande 


Nowe on the Eldridge hilles lie walke,* 


All over his bead so hye : 


For thy sake, faire ladle ; 
And lie either bring you a ready token, 


And here I sweare by the holy roode, 115 


Nowe caytiffe, thou shalt dye. 


Or He never more you see. 






Then up and came that ladye brighte, 




Fast wringing of her hande : 


The lady is gone to her own chambere, 75 


For the maydens love, that most you love, 
Withold that deadlye brande : 120 


Her maydens following bright : 


Syr Cauline lope from care-bed soone, 


And to the Eldridge hills is gone, 


For the maydens love, that most you love, 
^Now smyte no more I praye ; 
Wid aye whatever thou wilt, my lord, 


For to wake there all night. 




Unto midnight, that the moone did rise, 80 


He shall thy hests obaye. 124 


He walked up and downe : 




Then a lightsome bugle heard he blowe 


Now sweare to mee, thou Eldridge knighte, 


Over the bents soe browne ; 


And here on this lay-land, 


Quoth hee, If cryance come till my heart, 


That thou wilt believe on Christ his laye, 


I am ffar from any good towne. 85 


And thereto plight thy hand : 


And soone he spyde on the mores so broad, 


And that thou never on Eldridge come 


A furyous wight and fell ; 


To sporte, gamon, or playe : 130 


A ladye bright his brydle led, 


And that thou here give up thy armes 


Clad in a fajre kyrtell ; 


Until thy dying daye. 


* i. e. Knights. See the Prefaoo to Child Waters. 




• Perhaps wake, as in ver. 61. 


V. 109, aukeward, MS. 



SIR CAULINE. 



67 



The Eldridge knighte gave up his armes 
With many a sorrowfulle sighe ; 

And sware to obey Syr Caulines hest, 135 
Till the tyrne that he shold dye. 

And he then up and the Eldridge knighte 

Sett him in his saddle anone, 
And the Eldridge knighte and his ladye 

To theyr castle are they gone. 140 

Then he tooke up the bloudy hand, 

That was so large of bone, 
And on it he founde five ringes of gold 

Of knightes that had be slone. 

Then he tooke up the Eldridge sworde, 145 

As hard as any flint : 
And he tooke off those ringes five, 

As bright as fyre and brent. 

Home then pricked Syr Cauline 

As light as leafe on tree : 150 

I-wys he neither stint ne blanne, 

Till he his lady see. 

Then downe he knelt upon his knee 

Before that lady gay : 
ladye, I have bin on the Eldridge hills : 155 

These tokens I bring away. 

Now welcome, welcome, Syr Cauline, 

Thrice welcome unto mee, 
For now I perceive thou art a true knighte, 

Of valour bolde and free. 160 

ladye, I am thy own true knighte, 

Thy hests for to obaye : 
And mought I hope to winne thy love ! — 

Ne more his tonge colde say. 



The ladye blushed scarlette redde, 

And fette a gentill sighe : 
Alas ! syr knighte, how may this bee, 

For my degree's soe highe ? 



165 



But sith thou hast hight, thou comely youth, 
To be my batchilere, 170 

He promise if thee I may not wedde 
I will have none other fere. 

Then shee held forthe her lilly-white hand 

Towards that knighte so free ; 
He gave to it one gentill kisse, 175 

His heart was brought from bale to blisse, 

The teares sterte from his ee. 



But keep my counsayl, Syr Cauline, 

Ne let no man it knowe ; 
For and ever my father sholde it ken, 180 

I wot we wolde us sloe. 

From that day forthe that ladye fayre 
Lovde Syr Cauline, the knighte : 

From that day forthe he only joyde 

Whan shee was in his sight. ' 185 

Yea, and oftentimes they mette 

Within a fayre arbdure, 
Where they in love and sweet daliaunce 

Past manye a pleasaunt houre. 

fit In this conclusion of the First Part, 
and at the beginning of the Second, the reader 
will observe a resemblance to the story of 
Sigismunda and Guiscard, as told by Boccace 
and Dryden : see the latter's description of 
the lovers meeting in the cave ; and those 
beautiful lines, which contain a reflection so 
like this of our poet, " Every white," &c. viz. 

" But as extremes are short of ill and good, 
And tides at highest mark regorge their 

flood; 
So fate, that could no more improve their j oy, 
Took a malicious pleasure to destroy." 
Tancred, who fondly loved, &c." 

PART THE SECOND. 

Everye white will have its blacke, 

And everye sweete its sowre : 
This founde the Ladye Christabelle 

In an untimely howre. 

For so it befelle, as Syr Cauline 5 

Was with that ladye faire, 
The kinge, her father, walked forthe 

To take the evenyng aire : 



And into the arboure as he went 

To rest his wearye feet, 
He found his daughter and Syr Cauline 

There sette in daliaunce sweet. 



10 



The kinge hee sterted forthe, i-wys, 

And an angrye man was hee : 
Nowe, traytoure, thou shalt hange or drawe, 

And rewe shall thy ladle. 16 

Then forthe Syr Cauline he was ledde, 
And throwne in dungeon deepe : 



68 SIR CAULINE. 


And the ladyc into a towre so hye 


But a stranger wight, whom no man knewe, 


There left to wayle and weepe. 20 


He wan the prize eche daye. 


The queene she was Syr Caulines friend, 


His acton it was all of blacke, 65 


And to the kinge sayd shee: 


His hewberke, and his sheelde, 


I praye you save Syr Caulines life, 


Ne noe man wist whence he did come, 


And let him banisht bee. 


Ne noe man knewe where he did gone, 




When they came from the feelde. 


Now, dame, that traitor shall be sent 25 




Across the salt sea fome : 


And now three days were prestlye past 70 


But here I will make thee a band, 


In feates of chivalrye, 


If ever he come within this land, 


When lo upon the fourthe mornlnge 


A foule deathe is his doome. 


A sorrowfulle sight they see. 


All woe-begone was that gentil knight 30 


A hugye giaunt stiffe and starke, 


To parte from his ladye ; 


All foule of limbe and lere ; 75 


And many a time he sighed sore, 


Two goggling eyen like fire farden, 


And cast a wistfulle eye : 


A mouthe from eare to eare. 


Faire Christabelle, from thee to parte, 




Farre lever had I dye. 35 


Before him came a dwarffe full lowe, 




That waited on his knee, 


Faire Christabelle, that ladye bright, 


And at his backe five heads he bare, 80 


Was had forthe of the towre ; 


All wan and pale of blee. 


But ever shee droopeth in her rninde, 




As nipt by an ungentle winde 


Sir, quoth the dwarffe, and louted lowe, 


Doth some faire lillye flowre. 40 


Behold that hend Soldain ! 




Behold these heads I beare with me ! 


And ever shee doth lament and weepe 


They are kings which he hath slain. 85 


To tint her lover soe : 




Syr Cauline, thou little think'st on mee, 


The Eldridge knight is his own cousine, 


But I will still be true. 


Whom a knight of thine hath shent : 




And hee is come to avenge his wrong, 


Many a kinge, and manye a duke, 45 


And to thee, all thy knightes among, 


And lorde of high degree, 


Defiance here hath sent. 90 


Did sue to that fayre ladye of love ; 




But never shee wolde them nee. 


But yette he will appease his wrath 




Thy daughters love to winne : 


When manye a daye was past and gone, 


And but thou yeelde him that fayre mayd, 


Ne comforte she colde finde, 50 


Thy halls and towers must brenne. 


The kynge proclaimed a tourneament, 


T^r head, syr king, must goe with mee ; 95 


To cheere his daughters mind : 




Or else thy daughter deere ; 


And there came lords, and there came knights, 


Or else within these lists soe broad 


Fro manye a farre countrye, 


Thou must finde him a peere. 


To break a spere for theyr ladyes love 55 




Before that faire ladye. 


The king he turned him round aboute, 




And in his heart was woe : 100 


And many a ladye there was sette 


Is there never a knighte of my round table, 


In purple and in palle : 


This matter will undergoe ? 


But faire Christabelle soe woe-begone 




Was the fayrcst of them all. 60 


Is there never a knighte amongst yee all 




Will fight for my daughter and mee ? 


Then manye a knight was mickle of might 


Whoever will fight yon grimme soldan, 105 


Before his ladye gaye : 


Right fair his meede shall bee. 



SIR CAULINE. 



69 



For hee shall have my broad lay-lands, 

And of my crowne be heyre ; 
And he shall wiinne fayre Christabelle 

To be his wedded fere. 110 

But every knighte of his round table 

Did stand both still and pale : 
For whenever they lookt on the grim soldan, 

It made their hearts to quail. 

All woe-begone was that fayre ladye, 115 
When she sawe no helpe was nye : 

She cast her thought on her owne true-love, 
And the teares gusht from her eye. 

Up then sterte the stranger knighte, 

Sayd, ladye, be not affrayd : 120 

He fight for thee with his grimme soldan, 
Thoughe he be unmacklye made. 

And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge sworde, 

That lyeth within thy bowre, 
I trust in Christe for to slay this fiende 125 

Thoughe he be stifle in stowre. 

Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde, 
The king he cryde, with speede : 

Nowe heaven assist thee, courteous knighte ; 
My daughter is thy rneede. 130 

The gyaunt he stepped into the lists, 

And sayd, Awaye, awaye : 
I sweare, as I am the hend soldan, 

Thou lettest me here all daye. 

Then forthe the stranger knight he came 
In his blacke armoure dight ; 136 

The ladye sighed a gentle sighe, 
" That this were my true knighte I" 

And nowe the gyaunt and knighte be mett 
Within the lists soe broad ; 140 

And now with swordes soe sharpe of Steele, 
They gan to lay on load. 

The soldan strucke the knighte a stroke, 

That made him reele asyde ; 
Then woe-begone was that fayre ladye 145 

And thrice shee deeply sighde. 

The soldan strucke a second stroke, 

And made the bloude to flowe : 
All pale and wan was that ladye fayre, 

And thrice she wept for woe. 150 



The soldan strucke a third fell stroke, 
Which brought the knighte on his knee : 

Sad sorrow pierced that ladyes heart, 
And she shriekt loud shriekings three. 

The knighte he leapt upon his feete, 155 

All recklesse of the pain : 
Quoth hee, But heaven be now my speede, 

Or else I shall be slaine. 

He grasped his sworde with mayne and 
mighte, 

And spying a secrette part, 160 

He drave it into the soldan's syde, 

And pierced him to the heart. 

Then all the people gave a shoute, 
When they sawe the soldan falle : 

The ladye wept, and thanked Christ, 165 
That had reskewed her from thrall. 

And nowe the kinge with all his barons 

Rose uppe from offe his seate, 
And downe he stepped into the listes, 

That curteous knighte to greete. 170 

But he for payne and lack of bloude 

Was fallen intd a swounde, 
And there all walteringe in his gore, 

Lay lifelessse on the grounde. 174 

Come downe, come downe, my daughter deare, 

Thou art a leeche of skille ; 
Farre lever had I lose halfe my landes, 

Than this good knighte sholde spille. 

Downe then steppeth that fayre ladye 

To helpe him if she maye ; 180 

But when she did his beavere raise, 

It is my life, my lord, she sayes, 
And shriekte and swound awaye. 

Sir Cauline juste lifte up his eyes 

When he heard his ladye crye, 185 

O ladye, I am thine owne true love ; 

For thee I wisht to dye. 

Then giving her one partinge looke, 

He closed his eyes in death, 
Ere Christabelle, that ladye milde, 190 

Begane to drawe her breathe. 

But when she found her comelye knighte 

Indeed was dead and gone, 
She layde her pale cold cheeke to his, 

And thus she made her moane : 195 



70 



EDWARD, EDWARD. 



staye, my deare and onlye lord, 
For mee thy faithfulle feere ; 

'Tis meet that I shold followe thee, 
Who hast bought my love soe deare. 



Then fayntinge in a deadlye swoune, 200 

And with a deepe-fette sighe, 
That burst her gentle hearte in twayne 

Fayre Christabelle did dye. *** 



A SCOTTISH BALLAD. 

From a MS. copy transmitted from Scotland. 



Quht dois zour brand sae drop wi' bluid, 
Edward, Edward ? 
Quhy dois zour brand sae drop wi' bluid? 
And quhy sae sad gang zee, ? 
0, I hae killed my hauke sae guid, 5 

Mither, mither : 
0, I hae killed my hauke sae guid : 

And I had nae mair bot hee, 0. 

Zour haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,. 

Edward, Edward. 10 
Zour haukis bluid was nevir sae reid, 

My deir son I tell the, 0. 
0, I hae killed my reid-roan steid, 

Mither, mither : 
0, I hae killed my reid-roan steid, 15 

That erst was sae fair and free, 0. 

Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair, 

Edward, Edward : 
Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair, 

Sum other dule ze drie, 0. 20 

0, I hae killed my fadir deir, 

Mither, mither: 
0, I hae killed my fadir deir, 

Alas ! and wae is mee, ! 

And quhatten penance wul ze drie for that, 25 

Edward, Edward? 
And quhattan penance will ze drie for that ? 

My deir son, now tell me, 0. 
He set my feit in zonder boat, 

Mither, mither : 30 
He set my feit in zonder boat, 

And He fare ovir the sea, 0. 

And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and 
zour ha', 

Edward, Edward? 



And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and 
zour ha', 35 

That ware sae fair to see, ? 
lie let thame stand til they doun fa', 
Mither, mither : 
He let thame stand til they doun fa', 39 

For here nevir mair maun I bee, 0. 

And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and 
zour wife, 

Edward, Edward ! 
And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and 
zour wife, 

Quhan ze gang ovir the sea, ? 
The warldis room, let thame beg throw 
life, 45 

Mither, mither : 
The warldis room, let» thame beg throw 
life, 

For thame nevir mair wul I see, 0. 

And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither 
deir, 

Edward, Edward? 50 
And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither 
deir? 
9 My deir son, now tell me, 0. 
The curse of hell frae me sail ze beir, 
Mither, mither : 
The curse of hell frae me sail ze beir, 55 
Sic counseils ze gave to me, 0. 

This curious Song was transmitted to the 
Editor by Sir David Dalrymple, Bart., late 
Lord Hailes. 



KING ESTMERE. 



71 



VI. 



Jiing €sinun. 



This old Romantic Legend (which is given 
from two copies, one of them in the Editor's 
folio MS., but which contained very great vari- 
ations) bears marks of considerable antiqui- 
ty, and perhaps ought to have taken place of 
any in this volume. It should seem to have 
been written while part of Spain was in the 
hands of the Saracens or Moors ; whose em- 
pire there was not fully extinguished before 
the year 1491. The Mahometans are spo- 
ken of in ver. 49, &c, just in the same terms 
as in all other old Romances. The author 
of the ancient Legend of Sir Bevis represents 
his hero, upon all occasions, breathing out 
defiance against 

" Mahound and Termagaunte ;"* 

and so full of zeal for his religion, as to re- 
turn the following polite message to a Paynim 
king's fair daughter, who had fallen in love 
with him, and sent two Saracen knights to in- 
vite him to her bower : 

" I wyll not ones stirre off this grounde, 
To speake with an heathen hounde. 
Unchristen houndes, I rede you fie, 
Or I your harte bloud shall se." f 

Indeed they return the compliment by call- 
ing him elsewhere "A Christen hounde." J 

This was conformable to the real manners 
of the barbarous ages : perhaps the same ex- 
cuse will hardly serve our bard ; for that the 
Adland should be found lolling or leaning at 
his gate (ver. 35) may be thought per- 
chance a little out of character. And yet the 
great painter of manners, Homer, did not 
think it inconsistent with decorum to repre- 
sent a king of the Taphians leaning at the 
gate of Ulysses to inquire for that monarch, 
when he touched at Ithaca as he was taking 
a voyage with a ship's cargo of iron to dispose 
in traffic? So little ought we to judge of an- 
cient manners by our own. 

Before I conclude this article, I cannot help 
observing that the reader will see, in this bal- 



* See a short Memoir at the end of this Ballad, Note f|f . 
t Sign. C. ii. h. % Sign. C. i. h. 

§ Odyss. A. 105. 

10 



lad, the character of the old Minstrels (those 
successors of the bards) placed in a very re- 
spectable light ;* here he will see one of them 
represented mounted on a fine horse, accom- 
panied with an attendant to bear his harp 
after him, and to sing the poems of his com- 
posing. Here he will see him mixing in the 
company of kings without ceremony: no 
mean proof of the great antiquity of this 
poem. The further we carry our inquiries 
back, the greater respect we find paid to the 
professors of poetry and music among all the 
Celtic and Gothic nations. Their character 
was deemed so sacred, that under its sanction 
our famous King Alfred (as we have already 
seenf) made no scruple to enter the Danish 
camp, and was at once admitted to the king's 
head-quarters. J Our poet has suggested the 
same expedient to the heroes of this ballad. 
All the histories of the North are full of the 
great reverence paid to this order of men. 
Harold Harfagre, a celebrated king of Nor- 
way, was wont to seat them at his table above 
all the officers of his court : and we find an- 
other Norwegian king placing five of them 
by his side in a day of battle, that they might 
be eye-witnesses of the great exploits they 
were to celebrate.? As to Estmere's rid- 
ing into the hall while the kings were at ta- 
ble, this was usual in the ages of chivalry ; 
and even to this day we see a relic of this 
custom still kept up, in the champion's riding 
into Westminster-hall during the coronation 
dinner. || 

Some liberties have been taken with this 
tale by the Editor, but none without notice 
to the reader, in that part which relates to 
the subject of the Harper and his attendant. 



* See Note subjoined to 1st Pt. of Beggar of Bednal, &e. 

t See the Essay on the ancient Minstrels prefixed to this 
work. 

% Even so late as the time of Froissart, we find Min- 
strels and Heralds mentioned together, as those who might 
securely go into an enemy's country. Cap. cxl. 

? Bartholini Antiq. Dan. p. 173. Northern Antiquities, 

4c, vol. i. pp. 386, 3S9, 4c. 

|| See also the account of Edward' II., in the Essay on the 
Minstrels, and Note (X.) 



72 



KING ESTMERE. 



Hearken to me, gentlemen, 

Come and you shall heare ; 
He tell you of two of the boldest brethren 

That ever borne y-were. 

The tone of them was Adler younge, 5 

The tother was Kyng Estmere ; 

The were as bolde men in their deeds, 
As any were farr and neare. 

As they were drinking ale and wine 

Within Kyng Estmeres halle : 10 

When will ye marry a wyfe, brother, 
A wyfe to glad us all ? 

Then bespake him Kyng Estmere, 

And answered him hastilee : 
I know not that ladye in any land 15 

That's able* to marrye with mee. 

Kyng Adland hath a daughter, brother, 
Men call her bright and sheene ; 

If I were kyng here in your stead, 

That ladye shold be my queene. 20 

Saies, Reade me, reade me, deare brother, 

Throughout merry England, 
Where we might find a messenger 

Betwixt us towe to sende. 

Saies, You shal ryde yourselfe, brother, 25 

He beare you companye ; 
Many throughe fals messengers are deceived, 

And I feare lest soe shold wee. 

Thus the renisht them to ryde 

Of twoe good renisht steeds, 30 

And when the came to King Adlands halle, 

Of redd gold shone their weeds. 

And when the came to Kyng Adlands hall 

Before the goodlye gate, 
There they found good Kyng Adland 35 

Rearing himselfe theratt. 

Now Christ thee save, good Kyng Adland ; 

Now Christ you save and see, 
Sayd, You be welcome, King Estmere, 

Right hartilye to mee. 40 

You have a daughter, said Adler younge, 
Men call her bright and sheene, 



V. 3, brether, fol. MS. V. 10, his brother's hall, fol. MS. 
V. 14, hartilye, fol. MS.— V. 27, Mauy a man ... is, fol. MS. 
• He means fit, suitable. 



My brother wold marrye her to his wiffe, 
Of Englande to be queene. 

Yesterday was att my deere daughter 45 
Syr Bremor the Kyng of Spayne ; 

And then she nicked him of naye, 
And I doubt sheele do you the same. 

The Kyng of Spayne is a foule paynim, 
And 'leeveth on Mahound ; 50 

And pitye it were that fayre ladye 
Shold marrye a heathen hound. 



But grant to me, sayes Kyng Estmere, 

For my love I you praye ; 
That I may see your daughter deere 

Before I goe hence awaye. 



55 



Although itt is seven yeers and more 
Since my daughter was in halle, 

She shall come once downe for your sake 
To glad my guestes alle. 60 

Downe then came that mayden fayre, 

With ladyes laced in pall, 
And halfe a hundred of bold knightes, 

.To bring her from bowre to hall ; 
And as many gentle squiers, 65 

To tend upon them all. 

The talents of golde were en her head sette, 
Hanged low downe to her knee ; 

And everye ring on her small finger 

Shone of the chrystall free. 70 

Saies, God you save, my deere madam ; 

Saies, God you save and see. 
Said, You be welcome, Kyng Estmere, 

Right welcome unto mee. 

And if you love me, as you saye, 75 

Soe well and hartilee, 
All that ever you are comen about 

Soone sped now itt shal bee. 

Then bespake her father deare ; 

My daughter, I saye naye ; 
Remember well the Kyng of Spayne ; 80 

What he sayd yesterdaye. 

He wold pull downe my halles and castles, 
And reave me of my lyfe, 

V. 46, The king his sonne of Spayn, fol. MS 



KING ESTMERE. 



73 



I cannot blame him if he doe, 85 

If I reave him of his wyfe. 

Your castle and your towres, father, 

Are stronglye built aboute ; 
And therefore of the King of Spaine 

Wee neede not stande in doubt. 90 

Plight me your troth, nowe, Kyng Estmere, 
By heaven and your righte hand, 

That you will marrye me to your wyfe, 
And make me queene of your land. 

Then King Estmere he plight his troth 95 

By heaven and his righte hand, 
That he wolde marrye her to his wyfe, 

And make her queene of his land. 

And he tooke leave of that ladye fayre, 
To goe to his owne countree, 100 

To fetche him dukes and lordes and knightes, 
That marryed the might bee. 

They had not ridden scant a myle, 

A myle forthe of the towne, 
Bnt in did come the Kyng of Spayne, 105 

With kempes many one. 

But in did come the Kyng of Spayne, 

With manye a bold barone, 
Tone day to marrye Kyng Adlands daughter, 

Tother daye to carrye her home. 110 

Shee sent one after Kyng Estmere 

In all the spede might bee, 
That he must either turne againe and fighte, 

Or goe home and loose his ladye. 

One whyle then the page he went, 115 

Another while he ranne ; 
Till he had oretaken King Estmere, 

I wis, he never blanne. 

Tydings, tydings, Kyng Estmere ! 

What tydinges nowe, my boye ? 120 

O tydinges I can tell to you, 

That will you sore annoye. 

You had not ridden scant a mile, 

A mile out of the towne, 
But in did come the Kyng of Spayne 125 

With kempes many a one : 



V. 89, of the king his soune of Spaine, fol. MS. 



But in did come the Kyng of Spayne 

With manye a bold barone, 
Tone daye to marrye King Adlands daughter, 

Tother daye to carry her home. 130 

My ladye fayre she greetes you well, 

And ever-more well by mee : 
You must either turne againe and fighte, 

Or goe home and loose your ladye. 

Saies, Reade me, reade me, deere brother, 
My reade shall ryde* at thee, x 136 

Whether it is better to turne and fighte, 
Or goe home and loose my ladye. 

Now hearken to me sayes Adler yonge, 
And your reade must risef at me, 140 

I quicklye will devise a waye 
To sette thy ladye free. 

My mother was a westerne woman, 

And learned in gramarye,J 
And when I learned at the schole, 145 

Something shee taught itt mee. 

There growes an hearbe within this field, 

And iff it were but knowne, 
His color, which is whyte and redd, 

It will make blacke and browne : 150 

His color, which is browne and blacke, 

Itt will make redd and whyte ; 
That sworde is not in all Englande, 

Upon his coate will byte. 

And you shal be a harper, brother, 155 

Out of the north countrye ; 
And He be your boy, soe faine of fighte, 

And beare your harpe by your knee. 

And you shal be the best harper, 

That ever tooke harpe in hand ; 160 

And I wil be the best singer, 

That ever sung in this lande. 

Itt shal be written in our forheads 

All and in grammarye, 
That we towe are the boldest men 165 

That are in all Christentye. 

And thus they renisht them to ryde, 
On tow good renish steedes ; 

* Sic MS. It should probably be ryse, i. e. my course 
shall arise from thee. See ver. 140. 

t Sic MS. { See at the end of this ballad, note %*. 



74 



KING ESTMERE. 



And when they came to King Adlands hall, 
Of redd gold shone their weedes. 170 

And whan the came to Kyng Adlands hall, 

Untill the fayre hall yate, 
There they found a proud porter 

Rearing himselfe thereatt. 174 

Sayes, Christ thee save, thou proud porter ; 

Sayes, Christ thee save and see. 
Nowe you be welcome, sayd the porter, 

Of what land soever ye bee. 

Wee beene harpers, sayd Adler younge, 
Come out of the northe countrye ; 180 

Wee beene come hither untill this place, 
This proud weddinge for to see. 

Sayd, And your color were weite and redd, 

As it is blacke and browne, 
I wold saye King Estmere and his brother 

Were comen untill this towne. 186 

Then they pulled out a ryng of gold, 

Layd itt on the porters arme : 
And ever we will thee, proud porter, 

Thow wilt saye us no harme. 190 

Sore he looked on Kyng Estmere ; 

And sore he handled the ryng, 
Then opened to them the fayre hall yates, 

He lett for no kynd of thyng. 

Kyng Estmere he stabled his steede 195 

Soe fayre att the hall bord ; 
The froth, that came from his brydle bitte, 

Light in King Bremors beard. 

Saies, Stable thy steed, thy proud harper, 
Saies, stable him in the stalle : 200 

It doth not beseeme a proud harper 
To stable ' him' in a kyngs halle. 

My ladde he is so lither, he said, 
He will doe nought that's meete ; 

And is there any man in this hall 205 

Were able him to beate ? 

Thou speakest proud words, sayes the King 
of Spaine, 

Thou harper, here to mee ; 
There is a man within this halle 

Will beate thy ladd and thee. 210 

V. 202, To stable his steede, fol. MS. 



O let that man come downe, he said, 

A sight of him wold I see ; 
And when bee hath beaten well my ladd, 

Then he shall beate of mee. 

Downe then came the kemperye man 215 

And looked him in the eare ; 
For all the gold, that was under heaven, 

He durst not neigh him neare. 

And how nowe, kempe, said the Kyng of 
Spaine, 

And how what aileth thee ? 220 

He saies, It is writt in his forhead 

All and in gramarye, 
That for all the gold that is under heaven 

I dare not neigh him nye. 

Then Kyng Estmere pulld forth his harpe, 
And plaid a pretty thinge : 226 

The ladye upstart from the horde, 
And wold have gone from the king. 

Stay thy harpe, thou proud harper, 

For Gods love I pray thee, 230 

For and thou playes as thou beginns, 
Thou'lt till* my bryde from mee. 

He stroake upon his harpe againe, 

And playd a pretty thinge ; 
The ladye lough a loud laughter, 235 

As shee sate by the king. 

Saies, Sell mo thy harpe, thou proud harper, 

And thy stringes all, 
For as many gold nobles ' thou shalt have' 

As heere bee ringes in the hall. 240 

What wold ye doe with my harpe, ' he sayd,' 

If I did sell ityee? 
" To playe my wiffe and me a Fitt,f 

When abed together wee bee." 244 

Now sell me, quoth hee, thy bryde soe gay, 

As shee sitts by thy knee, 
And as many gold nobles I will give, 

As leaves been on a tree. 



And what wold ye doe with my bryde soe 

250 



gay, 
Iff I did sell her thee? 
More seemelye it is for her fayre bodye 
To lye by mee then thee. 

* i. e. entice. Vid. Gloss. 

t i. o. a tune, or strain of music. See Gloss. 



KING ESTMERE. 



75 



Hee played agayne both loud and shrille, 

And Adler he did syng, 
" ladye, this is thy owne true love ; 255 

Noe harper, but a kyng. 

" ladye, this is thy owne true love, 

As playnlye thou mayest see ; 
And He rid thee of that foule paynhu, 

Who partes thy love and thee." 260 

The ladye looked, the ladye blushte, 

And blushte and lookt agayne, 
While Adler he hath drawne his brande, 

And hath the Sowdan slayne. 

Up then rose the kemperye men, 265 

And loud they gan to crye : 
Ah ! traytors, yee have slayne our kyng, 

And therefore yee shall dye. 

Kyng Estmere threwe the harpe asyde, 
And swith he drew his brand ; 270 

And Estmere he, and Adler yonge 
Right stiffe in stour can stand. 

And aye their swordes soe sore can byte, 

Throughe help of Gramarye, 
That soone they have slayne the kempery 
men, 275 

Or forst them forth to flee. 

Kyng Estmere tooke that fayre ladye, 

And marryed her to his wiffe, 
And brought her home to merry England 

With her to leade his life. 280 

*** The word Gramarye, which occurs sev- 
eral times in the foregoing poem, is probably 
a corruption of the French word Grimoire, 
which signifies a conjuring book in the old 
French romances, if not the art of necroman- 
cy itself. 

f-j-f Termagaunt (mentioned above), is the 
name given in the old romances to the god of 
the Saracens : in which he is constantly link- 
ed with Mahound, or Mahomet. Thus in the 
legend of Syr Guy, the Soudan (Sultan) 
swears, 

" So helpe me Mahowne of might, 
And Termagaunt my God so bright." 
Sign. p. iij. b. 



Ver. 253, Some liberties have been taken in the following 
stanzas ; but wherever this Edition differs from the pre- 
ceding, it hath been brought nearer to the folio MS. 



This word is derived by the very learned 
editor of Junius, from the Anglo-Saxon Tyn 
very, and wagan mighty. — As this word had 
so sublime a derivation, and was so applica- 
ble to the true God, how shall we account for 
its being so degraded ? Perhaps Tyn-magan 
or Termagant had been a name originally 
given to some Saxon idol, before our ancestors 
were converted to Christianity ; or had been 
the peculiar attribute of one of their false de- 
ities ; and therefore the first Christian mis- 
sionaries rejected it as profane and improper 
to be applied to the true God. Afterwards, 
when the irruptions of the Saracens into Eu- 
rope, and the Crusades into the East, had 
brought them acquainted with a new species 
of unbelievers, our ignorant ancestors, who 
thought all that did not receive the Christian 
law were necessarily pagans and idolaters, 
supposed the Mahometan creed was, in all 
respects, the same with that of their pagan 
forefathers, and therefore made no scruple to 
give the ancient name of Termagant to the 
God of the Saracens: just in the same man. 
ner as they afterwards used the name of Sar- 
azen to express any kind of pagan or idolater. 
In the ancient romance of Merline (in the 
Editor's folio MS.) the Saxons themselves 
that came over with Hengist, because they 
were not Christians, are constantly called 
Sarazens. 

However that be, it is certain that, after 
the times of the Crusades, both Mahound 
and Termagaunt made their frequent appear- 
ance in the pageants and religious interludes 
of the barbarous ages ; in which they were 
exhibited with gestures so furious and frantic, 
as to become proverbial. Thus Skelton speaks 
of Wolsey : 

" Like Mahound in a play, 
No man dare him withsay." 

Ed. 1736, p. 158. 
In like manner Bale, describing the threats 
used by some papist magistrates to his wife, 
speaks of them as " grennyng upon her lyke 
Termagauntes in a playe." — [Actes of Engl. 
Votaryes, pt. 2, fo. 83, ed. 1550, 12mo.] 

Accordingly, in a letter of Edward Alleyn, 
the founder of Dulwich College, to his wife 
or sister,* who, it seems, with all her fellows 
(the players), had been " by my Lorde Maiors 
officer [s] mad to rid in a cart," he expresses 
his concern that she should " fall into the 

* See Lysons's " Environs of London, 4to. vol. i. 



76 



SIR PATRICK SPENCE. 



hands of such Tarmagants." [So the orig. 
dated May 2, 1593, preserved by the care of 
the Rev. Thomas Jenyns Smith, Fellow of 
Dulw. Coll.] — Hence we may conceive the 
force of Hamlet's expression in Shakspeare, 
where, condemning a ranting player, he says, 
" I could have such a fellow whipt for ore- 
doing Termagant: itout-herods Herod." A. 
iii. sc. 3. — By degrees, the word came to be 
applied to an outrageous turbulent person, 
and especially to a violent brawling woman ; 
to whom alone it is now confined, and this 
the rather as, I suppose, the character of Ter- 
magant was anciently represented on the 
stage after the eastern mode, with long robes 
or petticoats. 

Another frequent character in the old pa- 
geants or interludes of our ancestors, was the 
soiodan, or soldan, representing a grim east- 
ern tyrant : this appears from a curious pas- 
sage in Stovv's Annals [p. 458]. In a stage- 
play, " the people know right well, that he that 
plaieth the sowdain is percase a sowter [shoe- 



maker] ; yet if one should cal him by his 
owne name, while he standeth in his majestie, 
one of his tormentors might hap to break his 
head." The sowdain or soldan, was a name 
given to the Sarazen king (being only a more 
rude pronunciation of the word sidtaii), aa 
the soldan of Egypt, the soudan of Persia, 
the sowdan of Babylon, &c, who were gene- 
rally represented as accompanied with grim 
Sarazens, whose business it was to punish 
and torment Christians. I cannot conclude 
this short memoir, without observing that the 
French romancers, who had borrowed the 
word termagant from us, and applied it as 
we in their old romances, corrupted it into 
Tervagaunte : and from them La Fontaine 
took it up, and has used it more than once in 
his tales. — This may be added to the other 
proofs adduced in this volume, of the great 
intercourse that formerly subsisted between 
the old minstrels and legendary writers of 
both nations, and that they mutually borrow- 
ed each others' romances. 



VII. 



Sir fatritk Spun, 



A SCOTTISH BALLAD, 



is given from two MS. copies, transmit- 
ted from Scotland. In what age the hero of 
this ballad lived, or when this fatal expedition 
happened that proved so destructive to the 
Scots nobles, I have not been able to discover ; 
yet am of opinion, that their catastrophe is 
not altogether without foundation in history, 
though it has escaped my own researches. 
In the infancy of navigation, such as used 
the northern seas were very liable to ship- 
wreck in the wintry months : hence a law 
was enacted in the reign of James III. (a 
law which was frequently repeated after- 
wards), " That there be na schip frauched 
out of the realm, with any staple gudes, fra 
the feast of Simons-day and Jude, unto the 
feast of the purification of our lady called 
Candelmess." Jam. III. Parlt. 2, ch. 15. 

In some modern copies, instead of Patrick 
Spence hath been substituted the name of 
Sir Andrew Wood, a famous Scottish admiral 



who flourished in the time of our Edw. IV., 
but whose story hath nothing in common 
with this of the ballad. As Wood was the 
most noted warrior of Scotland, it is proba- 
ble that, like the Theban Hercules, he hath 
engrossed the renown of other heroes. 

The king sits in Dumferling toune, 

Drinking the blude-reid wine : 
O^quhar will I get guid saildr, 

To sail this schip of mine ? 

Up and spak an eldern knicht, 5 

Sat at the kings richt kne : 
Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor, 

That sails upon the se. 



The king has written a braid letter,* 
And signd it wi' his hand; 



10 



* A braid letter, i. e. open, or patent; in opposition to 
close Rolls. 



ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE. 



77 



And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence, 
Was walking on the sand. 

The first line that Sir Patrick red, 

A loud lauch lauched he : 
The next line that Sir Patrick red, 15 

The teir blinded his ee. 

quha is this has don this deid, 

This ill deid don to me ; 
To send me out this time o' the zeir, 

To sail upon the se ? 20 

Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all, 
Our guid schip sails the morne. 

say na sae, my master deir, 
For I feir a deadlie storme. 

Late late yestreen I saw the new moone 25 
Wi' the auld moone in hir arme ; 

And I feir, I feir, my deir master, 
That we will com to harme. 



our Scots nobles wer richt laith 

To weet their cork-heild schoone ; 30 

Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd, 
Thair hats they swam aboone. 

lang, lang, may thair ladies sit 

Wi' thair fans into their hand, 
Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence 35 

Cum sailing to the land. 



lang, lang, may the ladies stand 
Wi' thair gold kerns in their hair, 

Waiting for thair ain deir lords, 

For they'll se thame na mair. 40 

Have owre, have owre to Aberdour,* 

It's fiftie fadom deip : 
And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence, 

Wi' the Scots lords at his feit.f 



VIII. 



gtobm JflAfo an& iwg at §hUxm. 



We have here a ballad of Robin Hood 
(from the Editor's folio MS.) which was never 
before printed, and carries marks of much 
greater antiquity than any of the common 
popular songs on this subject. 

The severity of those tyrannical forest-laws, 
that were introduced by our Norman kings, 
and the great temptation of breaking them 
by such as lived near the royal forests, at a 
time when the yeomanry of this kingdom 
were everywhere trained up to the long-bow, 
and excelled all other nations in the art of 
shooting, must constantly have occasioned 
great numbers of outlaws, and especially of 
such as were the best marksmen. These 
naturally fled to the woods for shelter ; and 
forming into troops, endeavoured by their num- 
bers to protect themselves from the dreadful 
penalties of their delinquency. The ancient 
punishment for killing the king's deer was 
loss of eyes and castration, a punishment far 
worse than death. This will easily account 
for the troops of banditti which formerly 
lurked in the royal forests, and, from their 
superior skill in archery and knowledge of 



all the recesses of those unfrequented soli- 
tudes, found it no difiicult matter to resist or 
elude the civil power. 

Among all those, none was ever more fa- 
mous than the hero of this ballad, whose chief 
residence was in Shirewood forest, in Not- 
tinghamshire ; and the heads of whose story, 
as collected by Stow, are briefly these. 

" In this time [about the year 1190, in the 
reign of Richard I.] were many robbers and 
outlawes, among the which Robin Hood, and 
Little John, renowned theeves, continued in 
woods, despoyling and robbing the goods of 
the rich. They killed none but such as 
would invade them, or by resistance for their 
own defence. 

" The saide Robert entertained an hundred 
tall men and good archers with such spoiles 
and thefts as he got, upon whom four hun- 
dred (were they ever so strong) durst not give 

* A village lying upon the river Forth, the entrance to 
which is sometimes denominated Dt mortuo rnari. 

t An ingenious friend thinks the Author of Hardyknute 
has borrowed several expressions and sentiments from the 
foregoing, and other old Scottish songs in thw collection. 



78 



ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE. 



the onset. He suffered no woman to be op- 
pressed, violated, or otherwise molested ; poore 
mens goods he spared, abundantlie relieving 
them with that which by theft he got from 
abbeys and the houses of rich carles : whom 
Maior (the historian) blameth for his rapine 
and theft, but of all theeves he affirmeth him 
to be the prince, and the most gentle theefe." 
Annals, p. 159. 

The personal courage of this celebrated 
outlaw, his skill in archery, his humanity, 
and especially his levelling principle of taking 
from the rich and giving to the poor, have in 
all ages rendered him the favourite of the 
common people, who, not content to celebrate 
his memory by innumerable songs and stories, 
have erected him into the dignity of an earl. 
Indeed, it is not impossible, but our hero, to 
gain the more respect from his followers, or 
they to derive the more credit to their profes- 
sion, may have given rise to such a report 
themselves : for we find it recorded in an epi- 
taph, which, if genuine, must have been in- 
scribed on his tombstone near the nunnery 
of Kirklees in Yorkshire; where (as the story 
goes) he was bled to death by a treacherous 
nun to whom he applied for phlebotomy: 

*3t^ear un&crncab bis laitl sttan 
Iaij roicrt tarl of tuittiiujtuit 
nra arcir bit a? jjit sat jjtub 
an pipl fcaulo" im Hoiiti $%iub 
Bilk utlato? as f)i an is nun 
bil iSncjIanb" nibir si agtn. 
oitit 24- kal. itkmtiris, 1247. 

This Epitaph appears to me suspicious : 
however, a late Antiquary has given a pedi- 
gree of Robin Hood, which, if genuine, shows 
that he had real pretensions to the Earldom 
of Huntington, and that his true name was 
Robert Fitz-ooth.f Yet the most ancient 
poems on Robin Hood make no mention of 
this Earldom. He is expressly asserted to 
have been a yeomanj in a very old legend in 
verse preserved in the archives of the public 
library at Cambridge,? in eight fyttes or parts, 
printed in black letter, quarto, thus inscribed : 
" & Here begynneth a lytell geste of Robyn 
hode and his meyue, and of the proude sher- 
yfe of Notyngham." The first lines are, 



* See Thoresby's Ducat. Leod. p. 576, Biog. Brit. vi. 3933. 
f Stukeley, in his Palseograpbia Britannica, No. II. 1746. 
t See also the following ballad, v. 147. \ Num. D. 5, 2. 



" Lythe and lysten, gentylmen, 
That be of free-bore blode : 
I shall you tell of a good yeman, 
His name was Robyn hode. 

" Robyn was a proude out-lawe, 
Whiles he walked on grounde ; 
So curteyse an outlawe as he was one, 
Was never none yfounde." &c. 

The printer's colophon is, "(£ Explicit 
Kinge Edwarde and Robin Hode and Lyttel 
Johan. Enprinted at London in Fletestrete 
at the sygne of the sone by Wynkin de 

Worde." In Mr. Garrick's Collection* is 

a different edition of the same poem " (£ Im- 
printed at London upon the thre Crane wharfe 
by Wyllyam Copland," containing at the end 
a little dramatic piece on the subject of Robin 
Hood and the Friar, not found in the former 
copy, called, " A newe playe for to be played 
in Maye games very plesaunte and full of 
pastyme. <&{.'.)'$." 

I shall conclude these preliminary remarks 
with observing, that the hero of this ballad 
was the favourite subject of popular songs 
so early as the time of K. Edward III. In 
the Visions of Pierce Plowman, written in 
that reign, a monk says, 

I can rimes of Roben Hod and Randal of 
Chester, 

But of our Lorde and our Lady, I lorne 
nothygn at all. Fol. 26, Ed. 1550. 

See also in Bp. Latimer's Sermonsf a very 
curious and characteristical story, which 
shows what respect was shown to the mem- 
ory of our archer in the time of that prelate. 

The curious reader will find many other 
particulars relating to this celebrated Outlaw, 
in Sir John Hawkins's Hist, of Music, vol. 
iii. p. 410, 4to. 

For the catastrophe of Little John, who, it 
seems, was executed for a robbery on Arbor- 
hill, Dublin (with some curious particulars 
relating to his skill in archery,) see Mr. J. 
C. Walker's ingenious " Memoir on the Ar- 
mour and Weapons of the Irish," p. 129, an- 
nexed to his " Historical Essay on the Dress 
of the Ancient and Modern Irish." Dublin, 
1788, 4to. 

Some liberties were, by the Editor, taken 



* Old Plays, 4to. K. vol. x. 

t Ser. 6th before K. Ed. Apr. 12, fol. 75, Gilpin's Life of 
Lat. p. 122. 



ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE. 



79 



with this ballad; which, in this Edition, hath 
been brought nearer to the folio MS. 

When shaws beene sheene, and shradds full 
fayre, 

And leaves both large and longe, 
Itt is merrye walking in the fayre forrest 

To heare the small birdes songe. 

The woodweele sang, and wold not cease, 5 

Sitting upon the spraye, 
Soe lowde, he awakened Robin Hood, 

In the greenwood where he lay. 



Now by my faye, sayd jollye Robin, 
A sweaven I had this night ; 

I dreamt me of two wighty ycmen, 
That fast with me can fight. 



10 



Methought they did mee beate and binde, 

And toke my bow mee froe ; 
If I be Robin alive in this lande 15 

He be wroken on them towe. 

Sweavens are swift, master, quoth John 
As the wind that blowes ore a hill ; 

For if itt be never so loude this night, 

To-morrow it may be still. 20 

Buske yee, bowne yee, my merry men all, 

And John shall goe with mee, 
For He goe seeke yon wight yoemen, 

In greenwood where the bee. 

Then the cast on their gownes of grene, 25 
And tooke theyr bowes each one ; 

And they away to the greene forrest 
A shooting forth are gone. 

Untill they come to the merry greenwood, 
Where they had gladdest bee, 30 

There were the ware of a wight yeoman, 
His body leaned to a tree. 

A sword and a dagger he wore by his side, 

Of manye a man the bane ; 
And he was clad in his capull hyde 35 

Topp and tayll and mayne. 

Stand you still, master, quoth Little John, 

Under this tree so grene ; 
And I will go to yond wight yeoman 

To know what he doth meane. 40 



Ver. 1, For Sliaws the MS. has shales : and shradds should 
perhaps be swards: i. e. the surface of the ground: viz. 
" when the fields were in their beauty :" or perhaps shades. 
11 



Ah ! John, by me thou settest noe store, 

And that I farley finde ; 
How offt send I my men beffore, 

And tarry my selfe behinde ? 

It is no cunning a knave to ken, 45 

And a man but heare him speake ; 

And itt were not for bursting of my bowe, 
John, I thy head wold breake. 

As often wordes they breeden bale, 

So they parted Robin and John ; 50 

And John is gone to Baruesdale : 
The gates* he knoweth eche one. 

But when he came to Barnesdale, 
Great heaviness there hee hadd, 

For he found tow of his owne fellowes 55 
Were slaine both in a slade. 

And Scarlette he was flyinge a-foote 

Fast over stocke and stone, 
For the sheriffe with seven score men 

Fast after him is gone. 60 

One shoote now I will shoote, quoth John, 
With Christ his might and mayne ; 

He make yond fellow that flyes soe fast, 
To stopp he shall be fayne. 

Then John bent up his long bende-bow, 65 

And fetteled him to shoote : 
The bow was made of a tender boughe, 

And fell downe to his foote. 

Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood, 
That ere thou grew on a tree ; 70 

For now this day thou art my bale, 
My boote when thou shold bee. 



His shoote it was but loosely shott, 
Yet flewe not the arrowe in vaine ; 

For itt mett one of the sherriffea men, 
Good William a Trent was slaine. 



75 



It had bene better of William a Trent 
To have bene abed with sorrowe, 

Than to be that day in the green wood slade 
To meet with Little John's arrowe. 80 

But as it is said, when men be mett 

Fyve can doe more than three, 
The sheriffe hath taken Little John, 

And bound him fast to a tree. 

* i. e. ways, passes, paths, ridings. Gate is a common 
word in the North for way. 



80 



ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE. 



Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe, 85 

And hanged liye on a hill. 
But thou mayst fayle of thy purpose, quoth 
John, 

If itt be Christ his will. 



Let us leave talking of Litle John, 
And thinke of Robin Hood, 

now he is gone to the wight yeoman, 
Where under the leaves he stood. 



90 



Good morrowe, good fellowe, said Robin so 

fayre, 

"Good morrowe, good fellowe," quoth he : 

Methinkes by this bowe thou beares in thy 

hande 95 

A good archere thou sholdst bee. 

I am wilfull of my waye, quo' the yeman, 

And of my morning tyde. 
He lead thee through the wood, sayd Robin ; 

Good fellow, He be thy guide. 100 

I seeke an outlawe, the straunger sayd, 

Men call him Robin Hood; 
Rather lid meet with that proud outlawe 

Than forty pound soe good. 

Now come with me thou wighty yeman, 105 
And Robin thou soone shalt see : 

But first let us some pastime find 
Under the greenwood tree. 

First let us some masterye make 

Among the woods so even, 110 

Wee may chance to meet with Robin Hood 

Here att some unsett Steven. 

They cutt them downe two summer shroggs, 
That grew both under a breere, 

And sett them threescore rood in twaine 115 
To shoot the prickes y-fere. 

Leade on, good fellowe, quoth Robin Hood, 

Leade on, I doc bidd thee. 
Nay by my faith, good fellowe, hee sayd, 

My leader thou shalt bee. 120 

The first time Robin shot at the pricke, 

He mist but an inch it froe : 
The yeoman he was an archer good, 

But he cold never shoote soe. 

The second shoote had the wightye yeman, 
He shote within the garlande : 12G 



But Robin he shott far better than hee, 
For he clave the good pricke wande. 

A blessing upon thy heart, he sayd ; 

1 1 1 fellowe, thy shooting is goode ; 130 

For an thy hart be as good as thy hand, 

Thou wort better than Robin Hoode. 

Now tell me thy name, good fellowe, sayd he, 

Under the leaves of lyne. 
Nay by my faith, quoth bolde Robin, 135 

Till thou have told me thine. 

I dwell by dale and downe, quoth hoe, 
And Robin to take Ime sworne ; 

And when I am called by my right name 
I am Guye of good Gisbdrne. 140 

My dwelling is in this wood, sayes Robin, 

By thee I set right nought : 
I am Robin Hood of Barnesdale, 

Whom thou so long hast sought. 

He that had neither beene kithe nor kin. 145 
Might have seene a full fayre sight, 

To see how together these yeomen went 
With blades both browne* and bright. 

To see how these yeomen together they fought 
Two howres of a summers day : 150 

Yett neither Robin Hood nor Sir Guy 
Them fettled to flye away. 

Robin was reachles on a roote, 

And stumbled at that tyde ; 
And Guy was quicke and nimble with-all, 

And hitt him ore the left side. 156 

Ah, deare lady, sayd Robin Hood, ' thou 
That art both mother and may,' 

I think it was never mans destinye 

To dye before his day. 160 

* The common epithet for a sword or other offensive 
■weapon, in the old metrical romances, is brown. As " brown 
brand," or ; ' brown sword, brown bill," Ac. : and sometimes 
even "bright brown sword." Chaucer applies the word 
rustie in the same sense; thus he describes the reve: — 

" And by his side he bare a rusty blade." 

Prol. ver. 620. 
And even thus the god Mars : — 

" And in his hand he had a rousty sword." 

Test of Cressid. 188. 
Spenser has sometimes used the same epithet. See War- 
ton's Observ. vol. ii. p. 62. It should seem, from this par- 
ticularity, that our ancestors did not pique themselves upon 
keeping their weapons bright: perhaps they deemed it 
more honourable to carry them stained with the blood of 
their enemies. 



ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE. 



81 



Robin thought on our ladye deere, 

And soone leapt up againe, 
And strait he came with a ' backward' stroke, 

And he Sir Guy hath slayne. 

He took Sir Guy's head by the hayre, 165 
And sticked itt on his bowes end : 

Though hast beene a traytor all thy liffe, 
Which thing must have an ende. 

Robin pulled forth an Irish kniffe, 

And nicked Sir Guy in the face, 170 

That he was never on woman born, 
Cold tell whose head it was. 

Saies, Lye there, lye there, now Sir Guye, 

And with me be not wrothe ; 
If thou have had the worse strokes at my 
hand, 175 

Thou shalt have the better clothe. 

Robin did off his gowne of greene, 

And on Sir Guy did it throwe, 
And hee put on that capull hyde, 

That cladd him topp to toe. 180 

The bowe, the arrowes, and litle home, 

Now with me I will beare ; 
For I will away to Barnesdale, 

To see how my men doe fare. 

Robin Hood sett Guyes home to his mouth, 
And a loud blast in it did blow. 186 

That beheard the sheriffe of Nottingham, 
As he leaned under a lowe. 

Hearken, hearken, sayd the sheriffe, 

I heare nowe tydings good, 190 

For yonder I heare Sir Guye's horne blowe, 
And he hath slaine Robin Hoode. 

Yonder I heare Sir Guye's horne blowe, 

Itt blowes soe well in tyde, 
And yonder comes that wightye yeoman, 195 

Cladd in his capull hyde. 

Come hyther, come hyther, thou good Sir 
Guy, 

Aske what thou wilt of mee. 
0, I will none of thy gold, sayd Robin, 

Nor I will none of thy fee : 200 

But now I've slaine the master, he sayes, 
Let me go strike the knave ; 

Ver. 163, awkwarde, MS. 



This is all the rewarde I aske ; 
Nor noe other will I have. 

Thou art a madman, said the sheriffe, 205 
Thou sholdest have had a knight's fee : 

But seeing thy asking hath beene soe bad, 
Well granted it shale be. 

When Litle John heard his master speake, 
Well knewe he it was his steven : 210 

Now shall I be looset, quoth Litle John, 
With Christ his might in heaven. 

Fast Robin hee hyed him to Little John, 
He thought to loose him belive ; 

The sheriffe and all his companye 215 

Fast after him did drive. 

Stand abacke, stand abacke, sayd Robin ; 

Why draw you mee soe neere? 
Itt was never the use in our countrye, 

One's shrift another shold heere. 220 

But Robin pulled forth an Irysh kniffe, 
And loosed John hand and foote, 

And gave him Sir Guyes bow into his hand 
And bad it be his boote. 

Then John he took Guye's bow in his hand, 
His boltes and arrowes eche one : 226 

When the sheriffe saw Little John bend his 
bow, 
He fettled him to be gone. 

Towards his house in Nottingham towne 
He fled full fast away ; 230 

And soe did all his companye : 
Not one behind wold stay. 

But he cold neither runne soe fast, 

Nor away soe fast cold ryde, 
Bat Litle John with an arrowe so broad 235 

He shott him into the ' backe'-syde. 

*.v* The title of Sir was not formerly pe- 
culiar to Knights, it was given to Priests, 
and sometimes to very inferior personages. 

Dr. Johnson thinks this title was applied 
to such as had taken the degree of A. B. in 
the universities, who are still styled Domini, 
" Sirs," to distinguish them from Undergrad- 
uates, who have no prefix, and from Masters 
of Arts, who are styled Magistri, " Masters." 



82 



AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 



IX. 



Jin €legg 0K fenny Jimrtlj fei ai $tortjmmbcrlan&. 



The subject of this poem which was writ- 
ten by Skelton, is the death of Henry Percy, 
fourth Earl of Northumberland, who fell a 
victim to the avarice of Henry VII. In 1489 
the parliament had granted the king a subsi- 
dy for carrying on the war in Bretagne. This 
tax was found so heavy in the North that the 
whole country was in a flame. The E. of 
Northumberland, then lord lieutenant for 
Yorkshire, wrote to inform the king of the 
discontent, and praying an abatement. But 
nothing is so unrelenting as avarice: the king 
wrote back that not a penny should be abated. 
This message being delivered by the earl 
with too little caution, the populace rose, and, 
supposing him to be the promoter of their 
calamity, broke into his house, and murdered 
him, with several of his attendants, who yet 
are charged by Skelton with being backward 
in their duty on this occasion. This melan- 
choly event happened at the earl's seat at 
Cocklodge, near Thirske, in Yorkshire, April 
28, 1489. See Lord Bacon, &c. 

If the reader does not find much poetical 
merit in this old poem (which yet is one of 
Skelton's best), he will see a striking picture 
of the state and magnificence kept up by our 
ancient nobility during the feudal times. 
This great earl is described here as having, 
among his menial servants, knights, squires, 
and even barons : sec ver. 32, 183, &c, which, 
however different from modern manners, was 
formerly not unusual with our greater Barons, 
whose castles had all the splendour and offices 
of a royal court, before the laws against re- 
tainers abridged and limited the number of 
their attendants. 

John Skelton, who commonly styled him- 
self Poet Laureat, died June 21, 1529. The 
following poem, which appears to have been 
written soon after the event, is printed from 
an ancient MS. copy preserved in the British 
Museum, being much more correct than that 
printed among Skelton's Poems, in bl. let. 
12mo. 1568. It is addressed to Henry Percy, 
fifth Earl of Northumberland, and is prefa- 
ced, &c, in the following manner: 



Poeta Skelton Laureatus libellum suum 
metrice alloquitur. 

Ad dominum properato meum mea pagina 
Percy, 

Qui Northumbrorum jura paterna gerit, 
Ad nutum Celebris tu prona repone leonis, 

Quajque suo patri tristia justa cano. 
Ast ubi perlegit, dubiani sub mente volutet 

Fortunam, cuncta quse male fida rotat. 
Qui leo sit felix, et Nestoris occupet annos ; 

Ad libitum cujus ipse paratus ero. 

Skelton Laureat upon the dolourous dethe 
and much lamentable chaunce of the 
moost honorable erle of northumber- 

LANDE. 

I wayle, I wepe, I sobbe, I sigh ful sore 
The dedely fate, the dolefulle destenny 
Of him that is gone, alas ! withoute restore, 
Of the blode* royall descendinge nobelly ; 
Whos lordshepe doubtles was slayne la- 
mental <ly 5 
Thorow tresun ageyn hym compassyd and 

wrought ; 
Trew to his prince, in word, in dede, and 
thought. 

Of hevenly poems, Clyo calde by name 
In the college of musis goddess hystoriall, 

Adres the to me, whiche am both halt and 
lame 10 

In elect uteraunce to make memoryall : 
To the for soccour, to the for helpe I call 

Myne homely rudnes and drighnes to expelle 

With the freshe waters of Elyconys welle. 



* The mother of Henry, first Earl of Northumberland, 
was Mary daughter to Henry Karl of Lancaster, whose 
father Edmond was second son of King Henry III. — The 
mother and wife of the second Earl of Northumberland 
were both lineal descendants of King Edward III.— The 
Percys also were lineally descended from the Emperor 
Charlemagne and the ancient Kings of France, by his 
ancestor Josceline du Lovaia (son of Godfrey Duke of 
Brabant), who took the name of Percy on marrying the 
heiress of that house in the reign of Hen. II., Vid. Camden 
Britan. EdmonUson, &c 



AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 



Of noble actes auncyently enrolde, 15 

Of famous princis and lordes of astate, 

By thy report ar wonte to extold, 
Regestringe trewly every formare date : 
Of thy bountie after the usuall rate, 

Kyndle in me suche plenty of thy nobles, 

Thes sorrowfulle dities that I may shew ex- 
pres. 20 

In sesons past who hathe harde or sene 
Of formar writinge by any presidente 

That vilane hastarddis in ther furious tene, 
Fulfyld with malice of froward entente, 
Confeterdtogeder of commoun concente, 25 

Falsly to slo ther moste singular goode lorde ? 

It may be registerde of shamefull recorde. 

So noble a man, so valiaunt lorde and knight, 

Fulfilled with honor, as all the worlde dothe 

ken ; 30 

At his commaundement, whiche had both 

day and night 

Knyghtisand squyers, at every season when 

He calde upon them, as menyall houshold 

men , 

Were no thes commones uncurteis karlis of 

kynde 
To slo their owne lorde? God was not in 
their minde. 35 

And were not they to blame, I say also, 
That were aboute hym, his owne servants 
of trust, 
To suffre hym slayn of his mortall fo ? 

Fled away from hym, let hym ly in the 

dust : 
They bode not till the rekening were dis- 
cust. 40 

What shuld I flatter ? what shulde I glose or 

paynt ? 
Fy, fy for shame, their harts wer to faint. 

In Englande and Fraunce, which gretly was 

redouted ; 

Of whom both Flaunders and Scotland 

stode in drede ; 44 

To whome grete astates obeyde and lowttede : 

A mayny of rude villayns made him for to 

blede : 
Unkindly they slew him, that holp them 
oft at nede 
He was their bulwark, their paves, and their 

wall, 
Yet shamfully they slew hym ; that shame 
mot them befal. 



I say, ye commoners, why wer ye so stark 

mad ? 50 

What frantyk frensy fyll in youre brayne ? 
Where was your wit and reson, ye shuld have 

had? 
What willfull foly made yow to ryse agayne 
Your naturall lord ? alas ! I can not fayne. 
Ye armed you with will, and left your wit 

behynd ; 55 

Well may you be called comones most un- 

kynd. 

He was your chyfteyne, your shelde, your 
chef defence, 
Redy to assyst you in every tyme of nede; 
Your worship depended of his excellence : 
Alas ! ye mad men, to far ye did excede : 60 
Your hap was unhappy, to ill was your 
spede : 
Whatmovyd you agayn hym to war or tofight? 
What aylde you to sle your lord agynall right? 

The grounde of his quarel was for his sove- 

reyn lord, 64 

The welle concernyng of all the hole lande, 

Demaundyng soche dutyes as nedismost acord 

To the right of his prince which shold not 

be withstand ; 
For whos cause ye slew hym with yourawne 
hande : 
But had his nobill men done wel that day, 
Ye had not been hable to have saide him nay. 

But ther was fals packinge, or els I am be- 
gylde ; 7 1 

How-be-it the matter was evident and 
playne, 
For yf they had occupied ther spere and ther 
shelde, 
This noble man doutles had not be slayne. 
Bot men say they wer lynked with a dou- 
ble chayn, 75 
And held with the commouns under a cloke, 
Whiche kindeled the wyld fyre that made all 
this smoke. 

The commouns renyed ther taxes to pay 

Of them demaunded and asked by the 

kinge ; 

With one voice importune, they playnly said 

nay: 80 

They buskt them on a bushment themself 

in baile to bringe : 
Agayne the king's plesure to wrastle or to 
wrinae, 



84 AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 



Bluntly as bestis withe boste and with cry 
They saide, they forsede not, nor carede not 
to dy. 

The noblenes of the northe this valiant lordc 

and knyght, 85 

As man that was innocent of trechery or 

trayne, 

Presed forthe boldly to witstand the myght, 

And lyke niarciall Hector, he fauht them 

agayne, 
Vigorously upon them with myght and with 
mayne, 
Trustinge in noble men that wer with hym 
there : 90 

Bot all they fled from hym for falshode or 
fere. 

Barons, knights, squyers, one and alle, 
Togeder with servaunts of his famuly, 

Turnd their backis, and let ther master fall, 
Of whos [life] they counted not a flye ; 95 
Take up whos wolde for them, they let 
hym ly 

Alas ! his goldc, his fee, his annuall rente 

Upon suche a sort was ille bestowde and spent. 

He was envyronde aboute on every syde 
Withe his eneniys, that were stark mad 
and wode ; 100 

Yet whils he stode he gave woundes wyde 
Alas for routhe ! what thouche his mynde 

were goode, 
His corage manly, yet ther he shed his 
bloode ! 
All left alone, alas ! he fawte in vayne ! 
For cruelly amonge them ther he was slayne. 

Alas for pite ! that Percy thus was spylt, 106 

The famous erle of Northumberlande : 

Of knightly prowes the sworde pomel and 

hylt, ' 

The mighty lyoun* doutted by se and lande ! 

dolorous chauuce of fortuns fruward 

hande ! 110 

What man remembring how shamfully he was 

slayne, 
From bitter weepinge himself kan restrayne ! 

O cruell Mars, thou dedly god of war ! 
O dolorous Teusday, dedicate to thy name, 

* Alluding to his crust and supporters. Doutted is con- 
tracted for redoubtod. 



When thou shoke thy sworde so noble a man 

to mar ! 115 

O gronnde ungracious, unhappy 1><: thy fame, 

Whiehe wert endyed with rede blode of the 

same ! 

Moste noble eric ! O fowle mysuryd grounde 

Whereon he gat his fynal dedely wounde ! 

O Atropos, of the fatall systers thro, 120 
Goddes mooste cruell unto the lyf of man, 
All merciles, in the ys no pite ! 

O homycide, whiehe slcest all that thou 

kan, 
So forcibly upon this erle thow ran, 
That with thy sworde enharpid of mortall 
drede, 125 

Thou kit asonder his perfight vitall threde ! 

My wordis unpullysht be nakide and playne, 

Of aureat poems they want ellumynynge ; 

Bot by them to knoulege ye may attayne 

Of this lordis dethe and of his murdrynge. 

Which whils he lyvyd had fuyson of every 

thing, 131 

Of knights, of squyers, chef lord of toure 

and toune, 
Tyl fykkill fortune began on hym to frowne. 

Paregall to dukis, with kings he myght com- 
pare, 
Surmountinge in honor all erls he did ex- 
cede, 135 
To all cuntreis aboute hym reporte me I dare. 
Lyke to Eneas benygne in worde and dede, 
Valiaunt as Hector in every niarciall nede, 
Provydent, discrete, circumspect, and wyse, 
Tyll the chaunce ran agayne him of fortune's 
duble dyse. 140 

What nedethe me for to extoll his fame 

With my rude pen enkankerd all with rust ? 

Whos noble actis shew worsheply his name, 

Transcendyng far myne homely muse, that 

must 
Yet gum what wright supprisid with hartly 
lust, 145 

Truly reportinge his right noble astate, 
Immortally whiehe is immaculate. 

His noble blode never disteynyd was, 

Trew to his prince for to defende his right, 

Doublenes hatinge, fals maters to compas, 
Treytory and treson he bannesht out of 
syght, 151 

With trowth to medle was all his hole delyght, 



AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 85 



As all his kuntrey kan testefy the same : 
To slo such a lord, alas, it was grete shame. 

If the hole quere of the musis nyne 155 

la me all onely wer sett and comprisyde, 

Eubrethed with the blast of influence dyvyne, 
As perfightly as could be thought or devy- 

syd; 
To me also allthouche it were promysyde 

Of laureat Phebus holy the eloquence, 160 

All were too litill for his magnyficence. 

yonge lyon, bot tender yet of age, 

Grow and encrese, remembre thyn astate, 

God the assyst unto thyn herytage, 164 

And geve the grace to be more fortunate, 

Agayne rebellyouns arme to make debate. 

And, as the lyoune, whiche is of bestis kinge, 

Unto thy subjectis be kurteis and benyngne. 

1 pray God sende the prosperous lyf and long, 

Stabille thy mynde constant to be and fast, 

Right to mayntein, and to resist all wronge: 

All flattringe faytors abhor and from the 

cast, 172 

Of foule detraction God kepe the from the 

blast : 

Let double delinge in the have no place, 

And be not light of credence in no case. 175 

Wythe hevy chere, with dolorous hart and 

mynd, 

Eche man may sorow in his inward thought, 

Thys lords death, whose pere is hard to fynd 

Allgyf Englond and Fraunce were thorow 

saught. 
Al kings, all princes, all dukes, well they 
ought 180 

Bothe temporall and spirituall for to com- 

playne 
This noble man, that crewelly was slayne. 

More specially barons, and those knyghtes 
bold, 
And all other gentilmen with hym enter- 
teynd 
In fee, as menyall men of his housold, 185 
Whom he as lord worsheply manteynd : 
To sorowfull weping they ought to be con- 
streynd, 



As oft as thei call to ther remembraunce, 
Of ther good lord the fate and dedely chaunce. 

perlese prince of hevyn emperyalle, 190 
That with one worde formed al thing of 
noughte ; 
Hevyn, hell, and erth obey unto thi kail ; 
Which to thy resemblance wondersly hast 

wrought 
All mankynd, whom thou full dere hast 
boght, 
With thy blode precious our finaunce thou 
dyd pay, 195 

And us redemed, from the fendys pray : 

To the pray we, as prince incomperable, 
As thou art of mercy and pite the well, 

Thou bringe unto thy joy etermynable 
The sowle of this lorde from all daunger 
of hell, 200 

In endles blis with the to byde and dwell 

In thy palace above the orient, 

Where thou art lorde, and God omnipotent. 

O queene of mercy, O lady full of grace, 
Maiden moste pure, and goddis moder dere, 

To sorowfull harts chef comfort and solace, 206 
Of all women O floure withouten pere, 
Pray to thy son above the starris clere, 

He to vouchesaf by thy mediatioun 

To pardon thy servant, and bringe to salva- 
cion. 210 

In joy tryumphant the hevenly yerarchy, 
With all the hole sorte of that glorious 
place, 
His soule mot recyve into ther company 
Thorowe bounte of hym that formed all 

solace : 
Well of pite, of mercy, and of grace, 215 
The father, the son, and the holy goste 
In Trinitate one God of myghts moste. 

t-j-f I have placed the foregoing poem of 
Skelton's before the following extract from 
Hawes, not only because it was written first, 
but because I think Skelton is in general to 
be considered as the earlier poet ; many of 
his poems being written long before Hawes's 
Graunde Amour. 



86 



THE TOWER OF DOCTRINE. 



€\it ®0lw 0f gbttrhu. 



TnE reader has here a specimen of the de- 
scriptive powers of Stephen Hawes, a cele- 
brated poet in the reign of Henry VII., 
though now little known. It is extracted 
from an allegorical poem of his (written in 
1505), entitled, "the Hist, of Graunde Am- 
oure & La Belle Pucel, called the Palace of 
Pleasure, &c." 4to, 1555. See more of Hawes 
in Ath. Ox. v. 1, p. 6, and Warton's Observ. 
v. 2, p. 105. He was also author of a hook, 
entitled, " The Temple of Glass. Wrote by 
Stephen Hawes, gentleman of the bedchamber 
to K. Henry VII. " Pr. for Caxton, 4to., no 
date. 

The following Stanzas are taken from 
Chap. III. and IV. of the Hist, above men- 
tioned. " How fame departed from Graunde 
Amour and left him with Governaunce and 
Grace, and howe he went to the Tower of 
Doctrine, &c." As we are able to give no 
small lyric piece of Hawes's, the reader will 
excuse the insertion of this extract. 

I loked about and saw a craggy roche, 

Farre in the west neare to the element, 
And as I dyd then unto it approche, 
Upon the toppe I sawe refulgent 
The royal tower of Morall Document, 5 
Made of fine copper with turrettes fayre and 

hye, 
Which against Phebus shone soe marveyl- 
ously. 

That for the very perfect bryghtnes 
What of the tower, and of the cleare sunne 

I could nothyng behold the goodlines 10 

Of that palaice, whereas Doctrine did wonne: 
Tyll at the last, with mysty wyndes donne, 

The radiant brightnes of golden Phebus 

Auster gan cover with clowde tenebrus. 

Then to the tower I drewe nere and nere, 15 
And often mused of the great hyghnes 

Of the craggy rocke which quadrant did ap- 
peare : 
Rut the fayre tower, (so much of ryches 
Was all about,) sexangled doubtles ; 



Gargeyld with grayhoundes, and with many 
lyons, 20 

Made of fyne golde ; with divers sundry dra- 
gons.* 

The little turrets with ymages of golde 
About was set, whiche with the wynd aye 
moved 
With propre vices, that I did well beholde 
About the tower, in sundry wyse they 
hoved 25 

With goodly pypes, in their mouthes 
ituned, 
That with the wynd they piped a daunce 
Iclipped Amour de la hault plesaunce. 

The toure was great of marveylous wydnes, 
To whyche ther was no way to passe but 
one, 30 

Into the toure for to have an intres : 
A grece there was ychesyld all of stone 
Out of the rocke, on whyche men dyd gone 
Up to the toure, and in lykewyse dyd I 
With bothe the Grayhoundes in my com- 
pany :f 35 

Tyll that I came unto a ryall gate, 
Where I sawe stondynge the goodly portres, 

Whyche axed me, from whence I came a-late; 

To whome I gan in every thynge expresse 

All myne adventure, chaunce, and busy- 

nesse, 40 

And eke my name ; I told her every dell : 

Whan she herde this she lyked me right well. 

Her name, she sayd, was called Countenaunce ; 

Into the 'base' courte she dyd me then 

lede, 44 

Where was a fountayne depured of plesance, 

A noble sprynge, a ryall conduyte-hcde, 

Made of fyne golde enameled with reed ; 

And on the toppe four dragons blewc and 

stoute 
Thys dulcet water in four partes dyd spoute. 

V. 25, towers, P. C. V. 44, bcsy courte, P. C. T. 49, par- 
tyes, P. C. 

* Greyhounds, Lions, Dragons, were at that time the 
royal supporters, 
t This alludes to a former part of the Poem. 



THE CHILD OF ELLE. 



87 



Of whyche there flowed foure ryvers ryght 
clere, 50 

Sweter than Nylus* or Ganges was ther 
odoure : 
Tygrys or Eufrates unto them no pere : 
I dyd than taste the aromatyke lycoure, 
Fragraunt of fume, and swete as any floure; 
And in my mouth it had a marveylous scent 
Of divers spyces, I knewe not what it ment. 

And after thys further forth me brought 
Dame Countenaunce into a goodly Hall, 

Of jasper stones it was wonderly wrought: 
Thy wyndowes cleare depured all of crys- 
tall, 60 

And in the roufe on hye over all 



Of golde was made a ryght crafty vyne ; 
Instede of grapes the rubies there did shyne. 

The flore was paved with berall clarified, 
With pillers made of stones precious, 65 

Like a place of pleasure so gayely glorified, 
It myght be called a palaice glorious, 
So muche delectable and solacious ; 

The hall was hanged hye and circuler 

With cloth of arras in the rychest maner, 70 

That treated well of a ful noble story, 

Of the doubty waye to the Tower Peril- 
lous ;* 
Howe a noble knyght should wynne the vic- 
tory 
Of many a serpente foule and odious. 



XI. 



%\t Cftilfc 0f <8iU, 



is given from a fragment in the Edi- 
tor's folio MS. : which though extremely de- 
fective and mutilated, appeared to have so 
much merit, that it excited a strong desire 
to attempt the completion of the story. The 
reader will easily discover the supplemental 
stanzas by their inferiority, and at the same 
time be inclined to pardon it, when he con- 
siders how difficult it must be to imitate the 
affecting simplicity and artless beauties of 
the original. 

Child was a title sometimes given to a 
knight. See Gloss. 

On yonder hill a castle standes 
With walles and towres bedight, 

And yonder lives the Child of Elle, 
A younge and comely knighte. 

The Child of Elle to his garden went, 5 

And stood at his garden pale, 
Whan, lo ! he beheld fair Emmelines page 

Come trippinge downe the dale. 



The Child of Elle he hyed him thence, 
Y-wis he stoode not stille, 



10 



12 



t Nysus, P. C. 



And soone he mette fair Emmelines page 
Come climbing up the Lille. 

Nowe Christe thee save, thou little foot-page, 
Now Christe thee save and see ! 

Oh tell me how does thy ladye gaye, 15 

And what may thy tydinges bee ? 

My lady she is all woe-begone, 

And the teares they falle from her eyne ; 
And aye she laments the deadlye feude 

Betweene her house and thine. 20 

And here shee sends thee a silken scarfe 

Bedewde with many a teare, 
And biddes thee sometimes thinke on her, 

Who loved thee so deare. 

And here she sends thee a ring of golde 25 
The last boone thou mayst have, 

And biddes thee weare it for her sake, 
When she is layde in grave. 

For, ah ! her gentle heart is broke, 

And in grave soone must shee bee, 30 

Sith her father hath chose her a new new love, 
And forbidde her to think of thee. 



* The story of the poem. 



Her father hath brought her a carlish knight, 
Sir John of the north countraye, 

And within three dayes shee must him wedde, 
Or he vowes he will her slaye. 36 

Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page, 

And greet, thy ladye from mee, 
And tell her that I her owne true love 

Will dye, or sette her free. 40 

Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page, 

And let thy fair ladye know 
This knight will I bee at her bowre winddwe, 

Betide me weale or woe. 

The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne, 45 

He neither stint ne stayd 
Untill he came to fair Emmelines bowre 

Whan kneeling downe he sayd, 

ladye, I've been with thy own true love, 
And he greets thee well by mee ; 50 

This night will he be at thy bowre-winddwe, 
And dye or sette thee free. 

Nowe daye was gone and night was come, 

And all were fast asleepe, 
All save the ladye Emmeline, 55 

Who sate in her bowre to weepe : 

And soone she heard her true loves voice 

Lowe whispering at the walle, 
Awake, awake, my deare ladye, 

Tis I thy true love call. 60 

Awake, awake, my ladye deare, 
Come, mount this faire palfraye; 

This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe, 
He carrye thee hence awaye. 

Nowe nay, nowe nay, thou gentle knight, 65 

Nowe nay, this may not bee ; 
For aye shold I tint my maiden fame, 

If alone I should wend with thee. 



ladye, thou with a knighte so true 

Mayst safely wend alone, 
To my ladye mother I will thee bringe, 

Where marriage shall make us one. 



7(> 



" My father he is a baron bolde, 

Of lynage proude and hye ; 
And what would he saye if his daughter 75 

Awaye with a knight should fly ? 



Ah ! well I wot, he never would rest, 
Nor his meate should doe him no goode, 

Until he had slayne thee, Child of Elle, 
And scene thy deare hearts bloode." 80 

ladye wert thou in thy saddle sette, 
And a little space him fro, 

1 would not care for thy cruel father, 

Nor the worst that he could doe. 

ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette, 85 
And once without this walle, 

1 would not care for thy cruel father, 

Nor the worst that might befalle. 

Faire Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept, 
And aye her heart was woe : 90 

At length he seized her lilly-white hand, 
And downe the ladder he drewe : 

And thrice he clasped her to his breste, 

And kist her tenderlle : 
The teares that fell from her fair eyes 95 

Ranne like the fountayne free. 

Hee mounted himselfe on his steede so talle, 

And her on a fair palfraye, 
And slung his bugle about his necke, 

And roundlye they rode awaye. 100 

All this beheard her owne damselle, 

In her bed whereas shee ley, 
Quoth shee, My lord shall knowe of this, 

Soe I shall have golde and fee. 

Awake, awake, thou baron bolde ! 105 

Awake, my noble dame ! 
Your daughter is fledde with the Child of Elle 

To doe the deede of shame. 

The baron he woke, the baron he rose, 

And called his merrye men all : 110 

" And come thou forth, Sir John the knighte, 
Thy ladye is carried to thrall." 

Faire Emmeline scant had ridden a mile, 

A mile forth of the towne, 
When she was aware of her fathers men 115 

Come galloping over the downe : 

And formost came the carlish knight, 
Sir John of the north countraye : 

" Nowe stop, nowe stop, thou false traitoure, 
Nor carry that ladye awaye. 120 



THE CHILD OF ELLE. 



89 



For she is come of hye lineage, 

And was of a ladye borne, 
And ill it beseems thee a false churl's sonne 

To carrye her hence to scorne." 

Nowe loud thou lyest, Sir John the knight, 
Nowe thou doest lye of mee ; 126 

A knight mee gott, and a ladye me bore, 
Soe never did none by thee. 



But light nowe downe, my ladye faire, 
Light downe, and hold my steed, 

While I and this discourteous knighte 
Doe trye this arduous deede. 



130 



But light nowe downe, my deare ladye, 
Light downe, and hold my horse ; 

While I and this discourteous knight 135 
Doe trye our valour's force. 

Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept, 

And aye her heart was woe, 
While twixt her love and the carlish knight 

Past many a baleful blowe. 140 

The Child of Elle hee fought soe well, 
As his weapon he waved amaine, 

That soone he had slaine the carlish knight, 
And layd him upon the plaine. 

And nowe the baron and all his men 145 

Full fast approached nye : 
Ah ! what may ladye Emmeline doe 

Twere nowe no boote to flye. 

Her lover he put his home to his mouth, 
And blew both loud and shrill, 150 

And soone he saw his owne merry men 
Come ryding over the hill. 

" Nowe hold thy hand, thou bold baron, 

I pray thee hold thy hand, 
Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts 155 

Fast knit in true love's band. 

Thy daughter I have dearly loved 

Full long and many a day ; 
But with such love as holy kirke 

Hath freelye said wee may. 100 

give consent, shee may be mine, 

And bless a faithfull paire : 
My lands and livings are not small, 

My house and lineage faire : 



165 



My mother she was an earl's daughter, 
And a noble knyght my sire 

The baron he frowned and turn'd away 
With mickle dole and ire. 



Fair Emmeline sighed, faire Emmeline wept, 
And did all tremblinge stand : 170 

At lengthe she sprang upon her knee, 
And held his lifted hand. 



Pardon, my lorde and father deare, 
This faire yong knyght and mee : 

Trust me, but for the carlish knyght, 
I never had fled from thee. 



175 



Oft have you called your Emmeline 
Your darling and your joye ; 

let not then your harsh resolves 
Your Emmeline destroye. 



180 



The baron he stroakt his dark-brown cheeke, 

And turned his heade asyde 
To whipe awaye the starting teare 

He proudly strave to hyde. 

In deepe revolving thought he stoode, 185 

And mused a little space : 
Then raised faire Emmeline from thegrounde, 

With many a fond embrace. 

Here take her, Child of Elle, he sayd, 

And gave her lillye white hand ; 190 

Here take my deare and only child, 
And with her half my land : 



Thy father once mine honour wrongde 
In dayes of youthful pride ; 

Do thou the injury e repayre 
In fondnesse for thy bride. 



195 



And as thou love her, and hold her deare, 
Heaven prosper thee and thine : 

And nowe my blessing wend wi' thee, 

My lovelye Emmeline. 200 

* 
fit From the word kirke in ver. 129, this 
hath been thought to be a Scottish Ballad, but 
it must be acknowledged that the line referred 
to is among the additions supplied by the 
Editor : besides, in the Northern counties of 
England, kirk is used in the common dialect 
for church, as well as beyond the Tweed. 



90 



EDOM 0' GORDON. 



XII. 



(boom §' 60r!b0n, 



A SCOTTISH BALLAD, 



was printed at Glasgow, by Robert 

and Andrew Foulis, mdcclv. 8vo., L2 pages, 
— We are indebted for its publication (with 
many other valuable things in these volumes) 
to Sir David Dalrymple, Bart., who gave it as 
it was preserved in the memory of a lady, 
that is now dead. 

The reader will here find it improved, and 
enlarged with several fine stanzas, recovered 
from a fragment of the same ballad, in the 
Editor's folio MS. It is remarkable that the 
latter is entitled Captain Adam Carre, and is 
in the English idiom. But whether the au- 
thor was English or Scotch, the difference 
originally was not great. The English Bal- 
lads are generally of the North of England, 
the Scottish are of the South of Scotland, 
and of consequence the country of Ballad- 
singers was sometimes subject to one crown, 
and sometimes to the other, and most fre- 
quently to neither. Most of the finest old 
Scotch songs have the scene laid within 
twenty miles of England, which is indeed all 
poetic ground, green hills, remains of woods, 
clear brooks. The pastoral scenes remain : 
of the rude chivalry of former ages hap- 
pily nothing remains but the ruins of the cas- 
tles, where the more daring and successful 
robbers resided. The House or Castle of the 
Rodes stood about a measured mile south 
from Duns, in Berwickshire : some of the 
ruins of it may be seen to this day. The 
Gordons were ancientty seated in the same 
county: the two villages of East and West 
Gordon lie about ten miles from the castle of 
the Rodes.* The fact, however, on which 
the ballad is founded, happened in the North 
of Scotland, (see below), yet it is but too 
faithful a specimen of the violences practised 
in the feudal times in every part of this Island, 
and indeed all over Europe. 



* This Ballad is well known in that neighbourhood, 
where it, is entitled Adam o'Gordon. It may be observed, 
that the famous freebooter, whom Edward T. fought with 
hand to hand, near Farnham, was named Adam Gordon. 



From the different titles of this Ballad, it 
should seem that the old strolling bards or 
Minstrels (who gained a livelihood by reciting 
these poems) made no scruple of changing 
the names of the personages they introduced, 
to humour their hearers. For instance, if a 
Gordon's conduct was blame-worthy in the 
opinion of that age, the obsequious minstrel 
would, when among Gordons, change the 
name to Car, whose clan or sept lay further 
West, and vice versa. — The foregoing observa- 
tion, which I owed to Sir David Dalrymple, 
will appear the more perfectly well founded, 
if, as I have since been informed (from Craw- 
ford's Memoirs), the principal Commander 
of the expedition was a Gordon, and the 
immediate Agent a Car, or Ker ; for then the 
reciter might, upon good grounds, impute the 
barbarity here deplored, either to a Gordon 
or a Car, as best suited his purpose. In the 
third volume the reader will find a similar 
instance. See the song of Gil Morris, wherein 
the principal character introduced had diffe- 
rent names given him, perhaps from the same 
cause. 

It may be proper to mention, that in the 
folio MS. instead of the "Castle of the Rodes," 
it is the " Castle of Britton's-borrow," and 
also " Diactors" or " Draitours-borrow," (for 
it is very obscurely written,) and " Capt. 
Adam Carre" is called the "Lord of Wester- 
ton-town." Uniformity required that the 
Additional stanzas supplied from that copy 
should be clothed in the Scottish orthography 
and idiom : this has therefore been attempted, 
though perhaps imperfectly. 

It fell about the Martinmas, 

Quhen the wind blew shril and cauld, 
Said Edom o' Gordon to his men, 

We maun draw till a hauld. 

An quhat a hauld sail we draw till, 5 

My mirry men and me ? 
We wul gae to the house o' the Rodes, 

To see that fair ladle. 



EDOM 0' GORDON. 



91 



The lady stude on hir castle wa' 
Beheld baith dale and down : 

There she was ware of a host of men 
Cum ryding towards the toun. 

see ze nat, my mirry men a' ? 

see ze nat quhat I see? 
Methinks I see a host of men : 

1 marveil quha they be. 



But reach my pistoll, Glaud, my man,* 
10 And charge ze weil my gun :* 

For, but an I pierce that bluidy butcher, 55 
My babes we been undone. 



15 



She weend it had been hir luvely lord, 

As he cam ryding hame ; 
It was the traitor Edom o' Gordon, 

Quha reckt nae sin nor shame. 20 

She had nae sooner buskit hirsel, 

And putten on hir goun, 
But Edom o' Gordon and his men 

Were round about the toun. 

They had nae sooner supper sett, 25 

Nae sooner said the grace, 
But Edom o' Gorden and his men 

"Were light about the place. 

The lady ran up to hir towir head, 

Sa fast as she could hie, 30 

To see if by hir faire speeches 
She could wi' him agree. 

But quhan he see this lady saif, 

And hir yates all locked fast, 
He fell into a rage of wrath, 35 

And his look was all aghast. 

Cum doun to me, ze lady gay, 

Cum doun, cum doun to me : 
This night sail ye lig within mine armes, 

To-morrow my bride sail be. 40 

I winnae cum doun, ze fals Gordon, 

I winnae cum doun to thee ; 
I winnae forsake my ain dear lord, 

That is sae far frae me. 

Give owre zour house, ze lady fair, 45 

Give oure zour house to me, 
Or I sail brenn yoursel therein, 

Bot and zour babies three. 

I winnae give owre, ze false Gordon, 
To nae sik traitor as zee : 50 

And if ze brenn my ain dear babes, 
My lord shall make ze drie. 



She stude upon hir castle wa', 

And let twa bullets flee :* 
She mist that bluidy butchers hart, 

And only raz'd his knee. 60 

Set fire to the house, quo' fals Gordon, 

All wood wi' dule and ire : 
Fals lady, ze sail rue this deid, 

As ze bren in the fire. 

Wae worth, wae worth ze, Jock my man, 65 

I paid ze weil zour fee ; 
Quhy pu' ze out the ground-wa' stane, 

Lets in the reek to me ? 

And ein wae worth ze, Jock my man, 

I paid ze well zour hire ; 70 

Quhy pu' ze out the ground-wa' stane, 
To me lets in the fire ? 



Ze paid me weil my hire, lady ; 

Ze paid me weil my fee : 
But now I'm Edom o'Gordons man, 

Maun either doe or die. 



75 



then bespaik hir little son, 
Sate on the nurses knee ; 

Sayes, Mither deare, gi' owre this house, 
For the reek it smithers me. 80 

1 wad gie a' my gowd, my childe, 

Sae wald I a' my fee, 
For ane blast o' the western wind, 
To blaw the reek frae thee. 

O then bespaik hir dochter dear, 85 

She was bath jimp and sma: 
O row me in a pair of sheits, 

And tow me owre the wa. 

They rowd hir in a pair o' sheits, 

And towd hir owre the wa: 90 

But on the point of Gordon's spear 

She gat a deadly fa. 

O bonnie bonnie was hir mouth, 
And cherry were hir cheiks, 

* These three lines are restored from Foulis's edition, 
and the fol. MS., which last reads " the bullets," in v. 58. 



92 



EDOM 0' GORDON. 



And clear clear was hir zcllow hair, 

Whereon the rcid bluid dreips. 95 

Then wi' his spear he turnd hir owre, 

gin hir face was wan ! 

He sajd, Ze are the first that eir 

1 wisht alive again. 100 

He turnd hir owre and owre againe, 

gin hir skin was whyte ! 

I might ha spared that bonnie face, 
To hae been sum mans delyte. 

Busk and boun, my merry men a', 105 

For ill dooms I doe guess : 
I cannae luik in that bonnie face, 

As it lyes on the grass. 

Thame, luiks to freits, my master deir, 

Then freits wil follow thame : 
Let it neir be said brave Edom o' Gordon 

Was daunted by a dame. 

But quhen the lady see the fire 

Cum flaming owre hir head, 
She wept and kist her children twain, 115 

Sayd, Bairns, we been but dead. 

The Gordon then his bougill blew, 

And said, ' Awa', ' awa' ; 
This house o' the Rhodes is a' in flame, 

1 hauld it time to ga'. 120 

then bespyed hir ain dear lord, 

As hee cam owr the lee ; 
He sied his castle all in blaze 

So far as he could see. 

Then sair, sair, his mind misgave, 125 

And all his hart was wae ; 
Put, on, put on, my wighty men, 

So fast as ze can gae. 

Put on, put on, my wighty men, 

So fast as ze can drie ; 130 

V. 98, 102, O Gin, &c, a Scottish idiom to express, great 
admiration. V. 109, 110, Thame, &c, i. e. Them that look 
after omens of ill luck, ill luck will follow. 



For he that is hindmost of the thrang 
Sail neir get guid o' me. 

Than sum they rade, and some they rin, 

Fou fast out-owr the bent ; 
But eir the foremost could get up, 135 

Baith lady and babes were brent. 

He wrang his hands, he rent his hair, 

And wept in teenefu' muid : 
O traitors, for this cruel deid 

Ze sail weep teirs o' bluid. 140 

And after the Gordon he is gane, 

Sa fast as he might drie ; 
And soon i' the Gordon's foul hartis bluid 

He's wroken his dear ladie. 



14-1 Since the foregoing ballad was first 
printed, the subject of it has been found re- 
corded in Abp. Spotswood's History of the 
Church of Scotland, p. 259 ; who informs us, 
that 

" Anno 1571. In the north parts of Scot- 
land, Adam Gordon (who was deputy for his 
brother the Earl of Huntley) did keep a 
great stir ; and, under colour of the queen's 
authority, committed divers oppressions, es- 
pecially upon the Forbes Having 

killed Arthur Forbes, brother to the Lord 
Forbes. . . . Not long after he sent to sum- 
mon the house of Tavoy, pertaining to Alex- 
ander Forbes. The lady refusing to yield 
without direction from her husband, he put 
fire unto it, and burnt her therein, with 
children and servants, being twenty-seven 
persons in all. 

" This inhuman and barbarous cruelty 
made his name odious, and stained all his 
former doings ; otherwise he was held very 
active and fortunate in his enterprizes." 

This fact, which had escaped the Editor's 
notice, was in the most obliging manner 
pointed out to him by an ingenious writer 
who signs his name II. II. (Newcastle, May 
9,) in the Gentleman's Magazine for May, 
1775, p. 219. 



THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK. 



BALLADS THAT ILLUSTRATE SHAKSPEARE. 



93 



SERIES THE FIRST. 
BOOK II. 



§alla:!&8 %t Illustrate gltyikt&pm. 



Our great dramatic poet having occasion- 
ally quoted many ancient ballads, and even 
taken the plot of one, if not more, of his 
plays from among them, it was judged pro- 
per to preserve as many of these as could be 
recovered, and, that they might be the more 
easily found, to exhibit them in one collect- 
ive view. This second book is therefore set 
apart for the reception of such ballads as are 
quoted by Skakspeare, or contribute in any 
degree to illustrate his writings : this being 
the principal point in view, the candid reader 
will pardon the admission of some pieces that 
have no other kind of merit. 

The design of this book being of a dramatic 
tendency, it may not be improperly intro- 
duced with a few observations on the origin 
of the English Stage, and on the conduct of 
our first Dramatic Poets ; a subject which, 
though not unsuccessfully handled by several 
good writers already,* will yet perhaps admit 
of some further illustration. 

ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE, ETC. 

It is well known that dramatic poetry in 
this and most other nations of Europe owes 
its origin, or at least its revival, to those re- 
ligious shows, which in the dark ages were 
usually exhibited on the more solemn festi- 
vals. At those times they were wont to re- 
present in the churches the lives and miracles 
of the saints, or some of the more important 
stories of Scripture. And as the most myste- 
rious subjects were frequently chosen, such as 
the Incarnation, Passion, and Resurrection of 
Christ, &c, these exhibitions acquired the ge- 
neral name of Mysteries. At first they were 

* Bp. Warburton's Shakespeare, vol. v. p. 338. — Pref. to 
Dodsley's Old Plays. — Riccoboni's Acct. of Theat. of Europe, 
&c. &c. These were all the author had seen when he first 
drew up this Essay. 



probably a kind of dumb shows, intermingled, 
it may be, with a few short speeches ; at length 
they grew into a regular series of connected 
dialogues, formally divided into acts and 
scenes. Specimens of these in their most 
improved state (being at best but poor artless 
compositions) may be seen among Dodsley's 
Old Plays and in Osborne's Harleyan Miscel. 
How they were exhibited in their most sim- 
ple form, we may learn from an ancient 
novel, often quoted by our old dramatic 
Poets,* entitled " a Merye Jest of a man that 
was called Howleglas,"f &c, being a trans- 
lation from the Dutch language, in which he 
is named Ulenspiegle. Howleglass, whose 
waggish tricks are the subject of this book, 
after many adventures comes to live with a 
priest, who makes him his parish-clerk. This 
priest is described as keeping a Leman or 
concubine, who had but one eye, to whom 
Howleglass owed a grudge for revealing his 
rogueries to his master. The story thus pro- 
ceeds : "And than in the meane season, while 
Howleglas, was parysh clarke, at Easter they 
should play the Ressurrection of our Lorde : 
and for because than the men wer not learned, 
nor could not read, the priest toke his leman, 
and put her in the grave for an Aungell : and 
this seing Howleglas, toke to him iij of the 
symplest persons that were in the towne, 
that played the iij Maries ; and the Person 
[i. e. Parson or Rector] played Christe, with 
a baner in his hand. Than saide Howleglas 
to the symple persons, When the Aungell 
asketh you, whome you seke, you may saye, 
The parsons leman with one iye. Than it 
fortuned that the tyme was come that they 



* See Ben Johnson's Poetaster, act iii. sec. 4, and his 
Masque of The Fortunate Isles. Whalley's edit. vol. ii. p. 
49, vol. vi. p. 190. 

t Howleglass is said in the preface to have died in mcoccl. 
At the end of the book, in mccci.. 



94 



ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 



must playe, and the Aungel asked them 
whom they sought, and than sayd they, as 
Howleglas had shewed and lerned them afore, 
and than answered they, We seke the priests 
leman with one iye. And than the prieste 
might heare that he was mocked. And whan 
the priestes leman herd that, she arose out 
of the grave, and would have smyten with 
her fist Howleglas upon the cheke, but she 
missed him and smote one of the simple 
persons that played one of the thre Maries ; 
and he gave her another ; and than toke she 
him by the heare [hair j ; and that seing his 
wyfe, came running hastely to smite the 
priestes leman ; and than the priest seeing 
this, caste down hys baner and went to helpe 
his woman, so that the one gave the other 
sore strokes, and made great noyse in the 
churche. And than Howleglas seyng them 
lyinge together by the eares in the bodi of 
the churche, went his way out of the village, 
and came no more there."* 

As the old Mysteries frequently required 
the representation of some allegorical per- 
sonage, such as Death, Sin, Charity, Faith, 
and the like, by degrees the rude poets of 
those unlettered ages began to form complete 
dramatic pieces consisting entirely of such 
personifications. These they entitled Moral 
Plays or Moralities. The Mysteries were 
very inartificial, representing the Scripture 
stories simply according to the letter. But 
the Moralities are not devoid of invention; 
they exhibit outlines of the dramatic art : 
they contain something of a fable or plot, 
and even attempt to delineate characters and 
manners. I have now before me two that 
were printed early in the reign of Henry VIII.; 
in which I think one may plainly discover the 
seeds of Tragedy and Comedy: for which rea- 
son I shall give a short analysis of them both. 

One of them is entitled " Every Man."f 
The subject of this piece is the summoning 
of Man out of the world by Death ; and its 
moral that nothing will then avail him but a 
well-spent life and the comforts of religion. 
This subject and moral are opened in a mo- 
nologue spoken by the Messenger (for that 
was the name generally given by our ances- 



* ff. Tmprtnted . . by Wym.yam Copland: without date, 
4to. bl. let. among Mr. Garrick's Old I'lays. K. vol. X. 

j- This play has been reprinted by Mr. Hawkins in his 
3 vols, of Old Plays, entitled, " The Origin of the English 
Drama," 12mo. Oxford, 1773. See vol. i. p. 27. 



tors to the Prologue on their rude stage) : 
then God* is represented ; who, after some 
general complaints on the degeneracy of man- 
kind, calls for Death, and orders him to bring 
before his tribunal Every-man, for so is called 
the personage who represents the Human 
Race. Every-man appears, and receives the 
summons with all the marks of confusion and 
terror. When Death is withdrawn, Every- 
Man applies for relief in this distress to Fel- 
lowship, Kindred, Goods, or Riches, but they 
successively renounce and forsake him. In 
this disconsolate state he betakes himself to 
Good Dedes, who after upbraiding him with 
his long neglect of her,f introduces him 
to her sister Knowledge, and she leads him 
to the " holy man Confession," who appoints 
him penance: this he inflicts upon himself on 
the stage, and then withdraws to receive the 
sacraments of the priest. On his return he 
begins to wax faint, and, after Strength, 
Beauty, Discretion, and Five Wits {g) have 
taken their final leave of him, gradually ex- 
pires on the stage ; Good Dedes still accom- 
panying him to the last. Then an Aungell 
descends to sing his Requiem ; and the Epi- 
logue is spoken by a person, called Doctour, 
who recapitulates the whole, and delivers the 
moral : 

" 1[. This memoriall men may have in mynde, 
Ye herers, take it of worth old and yonge, 
And forsake Pryde, for he deceyveth you in 

thende, 
And remembre Beaute, Five Witts, Strength 

and Discretion, 
They all at last do Every Man forsake ; 
Save his Good Dedes there dothe he take ; 
But beware, for and they be small, 
Before God he hath no helpe at all/' &c. 

From this short analysis it may be observed, 
that " Every Man" is a grave solemn piece, 
not without some rude attempts to excite ter- 
ror and pity, and therefore may not impro- 
perly be referred to the class of Tragedy. It 
is remarkable that in this old simple drama 
the fable is conducted upon the strictest model 
of the Greek tragedy. The action is simply 

* The second person of the Trinity seems to be meant, 

t The before-mentioned are male characters. 

% i. e. The Five Senses. These are frequently exhibited 

as five distinct personages upon the Spanish stage (see 

Riccoboni, p. 98) ; but our moralist has represented them 

all by one character. 



ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 



95 



one, the time of action is that of the perform- 
ance, the scene is never changed, nor the 
stage ever empty. Every-Man, the hero of 
the piece, after his first appearance never 
withdraws, except when he goes out to re- 
ceive the sacraments, which could not well be 
exhibited in public ; and during his absence 
Knowledge descants on the excellence and 
power of the priesthood, somewhat after the 
manner of the Greek chorus. And indeed, 
except in the circumstance of Every-Man's 
expiring on the stage, the Sampson Ago- 
nistes of Milton is hardly formed on a severer 
plan.* 

The other play is entitled " Hick-Scorn- 
er,"f and bears no distant resemblance to 
Comedy : its chief aim seems to be to exhibit 
characters and manners, its plot being much 
less regular than the foregoing. The Pro- 
logue is spoken by Pity, represented under 
the character of an aged pilgrim ; he is joined 
by Contemplacyon and Perseverance, two 
holy men, who, after lamenting the degene- 
racy of the age, declare their resolution of 
stemming the torrent. Pity then is left upon 
the stage, and presently found by Frewyll, 
representing a lewd debauchee, who, with his 
dissolute companion Imaginacion, relate their 
manner of life, and not without humour de- 
scribe the stews and other places of base re- 
sort. They are presently joined by Hick- 
Scorner, who is drawn as a libertine returned 
from travel, and agreeably to his name, scoffs 
at religion. These three are described as ex- 
tremely viscious, who glory in every act of 
wickedness : at length two of them quarrel, 
and Pity endeavours to part the fray; on this 
they fall upon him, put him in the stocks and 
there leave him. Pity, thus imprisoned, des- 
cants, in a kind of lyric measure, on the pro- 
fligacy of the age, and in this situation is 
found by Perseverance and Contemplacion, 
who set him at liberty and advise him to go 
in search of .the delinquents. As soon as he 
is gone, Frewill appears again; and, after re- 
lating in a very comic manner some of his 
rogueries and escapes from justice, is rebuked 
by the two holy men, who, after a long alter- 
cation, at length convert him and his libertine 



* See more of every man, in Series the Second, Pref. to 
B. ii., note. 

t " Imprynted by me Wynkyn de Worde," no date ; in 
4to. bl. let. This play has also been reprinted by Mr. Haw- 
kins in his " Origin of the English Drama," vol. i. p. 69. 

13 



companion Imaginacioun from their vicious 
course of life : and then the play ends with a 
few verses from Perseverance by way of epi- 
logue. This and every morality I have seen 
conclude with a solemn prayer. They are 
all of them in rhyme : in a kind of loose stanza, 
intermixed with distichs. 

It would be needless to point out the ab- 
surdities in the plan and conduct of the fore- 
going play : they are evidently great. It is 
sufficient to observe, that, bating the moral 
and religious reflection of Pity, &c, the piece 
is of a comic cast, and contains a humorous 
display of some of the vices of the age. In- 
deed the author has generally been so little 
attentive to the allegory, that we need only 
substitute other names to his personages, and 
we have real characters and living manners. 

We see then that the writers of these mo- 
ralities were upon the very threshold of real 
tragedy and comedy ; and therefore we are 
not to wonder that tragedies and come- 
dies in form soon after took place, especially 
as the revival of learning about this time 
brought them acquainted with the Roman 
and Grecian models. 

II. At what period of time the moralities 
had their rise here, it is difficult to discover. 
But plays of miracles appear to have been 
exhibited in England soon after the Conquest. 
Matthew Paris tells us that Geoffrey, after- 
wards Abbot of St. Albans, a Norman, who 
had been sent for over by Abbot Richard to 
take upon him the direction of the School of 
that monastery, coming too late, went to Dun- 
staple and taught in the abbey there ; where 
he caused to be acted (probably by his scho- 
lars) a miracle play of St. Catherine, composed 
by himself.* This was long before the 
year 1119, and probably within the 11th cen- 
tury. The above play of St. Catherine was, 
for aught that appears, the first spectacle of 
this sort that was exhibited in these king- 
doms : and an eminent French writer thinks 
it was even the first attempt towards the re- 



* Apvd Dunestapliam .... quendum ludum de sancta 
Koterina (quern miracula vulgariter appellamus) fecit. Ad 
qua dtcoranda, petiit a sacrista sancti Albani, ut sibi Capet 
Chorales accommodarentur, et nbtinuit. Et fuit ludus ilit. de 
sancta Katerina. Vitae Abbat. ad fin. Hist. Mat. Paris, fol. 
1639, p. 56. — We see here that Plays of Miracles were become 
common enough in the time of Mat. Paris, who flourished 
about 1240. But that indeed appears from the more early 
writings of Fitz-Stephens : quoted below. 



96 



ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 



vival of Dramatic Entertainments in all 
Europe ; being long before the Representa- 
tions of Mysteries in France ; for these did 
not begin till the year 1398.* 

But whether they derived their origin from 
the above exhibition or not, it is certain that 
Holy Plays, representing the miracles and 
sufferings of the Saints, were become common 
in the reign of Henry II. ; and a lighter sort 
of Interludes appear not to have been then 
unknown.f In the subsequent age of 
Chaucer, " Plays of Miracles" in Lent were 
the common resort of idle gossips. J 

They do not appear to have been so pre- 
valent on the continent, for the learned his- 
torian of the council of Constance^ ascribes 
to the English the introduction of plays into 
Germany. He tells us that the Emperor, 
having been absent from the council for some 
time, was at his return received with great 
rejoicings, and that the English fathers in par- 
ticular did, upon that occasion; cause a sacred 
comedy to be acted before him on Sunday, 
Jan. 31, 1417; the subjects of which were: — 
The Nativity of our Saviour ; the arrival of 
the Eastern Magi; and the Massacre by 
Herod. Thence it appears, says this writer, 
that the Germans are obliged to the English 
for the invention of this sort of spectacles, un- 
known to them before that period. 

The fondness of our ancestors for dramatic 
exhibitions of this kind, and some curious 
particulars relating to this subject, will ap- 
pear from the Houshold Book of the fifth 
Earl of Northumberland, A. D. 1512 :||— 

* Vid. Abrege Chron. de 1'IIist. de France, par M. 
Henault, a l'ann. 1179. 

t See Fitz-Stephens's Description of London, preserved 
by Stow (and reprinted with notes, &c, by the Rev. Mr. 
Pegge, in 1774, 4to.), Londonia pro spectuculis theatralibus, 
pro ludis scenicis, ludos habet sanctiores, representationes 
miraculorum, &c. He is thought to have written in the 
reign of Hen. II., and to have died in that of Richard I. 
It is true, at the end of this book we find mentioned 
Henricum regem tertium ; but this is doubtless Henry the 
Second's son, who was crowned during the life of his father, 
in 1170, and is generally distinguished as Ilex juvenis, Hex 
Jilius, and sometimes they were jointly named Rega 
Anglice. From a passage in his Chap. De Religicme, it 
should seem that the body of St. Thomas Becket was just 
then a new acquisition to the Church of Canterbury. 

% See Prologue to Wife of ISath's Tale, v. 6137. Tyr- 
whitt's Ed. 

§ M. L'Enfant. "Vid. Hist, du Cone, de Constance, vol. 
ii. p. 440. 

| "The regulations and establishments of the houshold 
of Hen. Alg. Percy, fifth Earl of Northumb. Lon. 1770," 
8vo. Whereof a small impression was printed by order of 
the late Duke and Duchess of Northumberland to bestow 



whence I shall select a few extracts, which 
show that the exhibiting scripture dramas on 
the great festivals entered into the regular 
establishment, and formed part of the domes- 
tic regulations of our ancient nobility ; and, 
what is more remarkable, that it was as 
much the business of the chaplain in those 
days to compose Plays for the family, as it is 
now for him to make sermons. 

" My Lordes Chapleyns in Household vj. 
viz. The Almonar, and if he be a maker of 
Interludys, than he to have a servaunt to the 
intent for writynge of the Parts ; and ells to 
have non. The maister of gramer, &c." 
Sect. V. p. 44. 

" Item, my lorde usith and accustomyth to 
gyf yerely if is lordship kepe a chapell and 
be at home, them of his lordschipes chapell, 
if they doo play the play of the Nati vite uppon 
cristynmes day in the moi-nnynge in my lords 
chapell befor his lordship — xxs." Sect. XLIV. 
p. 3-13. 

" Item, ... to them of his lordship chap- 
pell and other his lordshipis servaunts that 
doith play the play befor his lordship uppon 
Shrof-Tewsday at night yerely in reward 
-xs." Ibid. p. 345. 

" Item, .... to them .... that playth the 
play of Resurrection upon estur day in the 
mornnynge in my lordis ' chapell' befor his 
lordshipe — xxs." Ibid. 

"Item, My lorde useth and accustomyth 
yerly to gyf hym which is ordynede to be the 
Master of the Revells yerly in my lordis 
hous in cristmas for the overseyinge and or- 
deringe of his lordschips playes, interludes 
and dresinge that is plaid befor his lordship 
in his hous in the xijth dayes of Cristenmas 
and they to have in rewarde for that caus 
yerly — xxs." Ibid. p. 346. 

" Item, My lorde useth and accustomyth 
to gyf every of the iiij. Parsones that his lord- 
schip admyted as his Players to com to his 
lordship yerly at Cristynmes ande at all other 
such tymes as his lordship shall comande 
them for playing of playe and interludes 
affor his lordship in his lordshipis hous for 
every of their fees for an hole yere" . . . Ibid. 
p. 351. 

" Item, to be payd . . . for rewards to Play- 
ers for playes playd at Cristynmas by strane- 



in presents to their friends. — Although begun in 1512, some 
of the Regulations were composed so late as 1525. 



ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 



97 



geres in my house after xxd.* every play, 
by estimacion somme — xxxiijs, iiij."f Sect. 
1, p. 22. 

" Item, My Lorde usith, and accustometh 
to gif yerely when his lordshipp is at home, 
to every erlis Players that comes to his lord- 
shipe betwixt Cristynmas ande Candelmas, 
if he be his special lorde & frende & Kyns- 
man— xxs." Sect. XLIIII. p. 340. 

" Item, My lorde usith and accustomyth to 
gyf yerely, when his lordship is at home to 
every lordis Players, that comyth to his lord- 
shipe betwixt Crystynmas and Candilmas — 
xs." Ibid. 

The reader will observe the great difference 
in the rewards here given to such Players as 
were retainers of noble personages, and such 
as are styled Strangers, or, as we may sup- 
pose, only strollers. 

The profession of a common player was 
about this time held by some in low estima- 
tion. In an old satire, entitled " Cock Lor- 
reles Bote,"$ the author enumerating the 
most common trades or callings, as " carpen- 
ters, coopers, joyners," &c, mentions 

" Players, purse-cutters, money batterers, 
Golde-washers, tomblers, jogelers, 
Pardoners, &c." Sign. B. vj. 

III. It hath been observed already, that 
plays of Miracles, or Mysteries, as they were 
called, led to the introduction of Moral Plays 
or Moralities, which prevailed so early, and 
became so common, that towards the latter 
end of King Henry Vllth's reign, John Ras- 
tel, brother-in-law to Sir Thomas More, con- 
ceived a design of making them the vehicle 
of science and natural philosophy. With 
this view he published " A new Interlude 
and a Mery of the Nature of the Four Ele- 
ments declarynge many proper points of 
Philosophy Naturall, and of Dyvers Straunge 
Landys,§ &c. It is observable that the 

* This was not so small a sura then as it may now 
appear; for in another part of this MS. the price ordered to 
be given for a fat ox is but 13s. 4d., and for a lean one 8s. 

t At this rate the number of plays acted must have 
been twenty. 

X Pr. at the Sun in Fleet St. by W. de Worde, no date, 
b. i. 4to. 

\ Mr. Garrick has an imperfect copy, (Old Plays, i. vol. 
iii.) The dramatis persona; are, "fl. The Messenger [or 
Prologue]. Nature naturate; Humanyte; Studyous Desire ; 
Sensuall Appetyte; The Taverner; Experyence; Ygno- 
raunce. (Also yf ye lyste ye may brynge in a dy sgysynge.") 



poet speaks of the discovery of America as 
then recent : 

" Within this xx yere 

Westwarde be founde new landes 

That we never harde tell of before this," &c. 

The West Indies were discovered by Colum- 
bus in 1492, which fixes the writing of this 
play to about 1510 (two years before the date 
of the above Houshold Book.) The play 
of "Hick Scorner" was probably somewhat 
more ancient, as he still more imperfectly al- 
ludes to the American discoveries, under the 
name of " the Newe founde Ilonde." (Sign. 
A. vij.) 

It is observable that in the olden moralities, 
as in that last mentioned, Every-man, &c, is 
printed no kind of stage direction for the 
exits and entrances of the personages, no di- 
vision of acts and scenes. But in the moral 
interlude of "Lusty Juventus,"* written 
under Edward VI., the exits and entrances 
began to be noted in the margin :f at 
length in Queen Elizabeth's reign moralities 
appeared formally divided into acts and 
scenes, with a regular prologue, &c. One of 
these is reprinted by Dodsley. 

Before we quit this subject of the very 
early printed plays, it may just be observed, 
that, although so few are now extant, it 
should seem many were printed before the 
reign of Queen Elizabeth, as at the begin- 
ning of her reign, her Injunctions in 1559 
are particularly directed to the suppressing 
of " many pamphlets, playes, and ballads ; 
that no manner of person shall enterprize to 
print any such, &c." but under certain re- 
strictions. Vid. Sect. V. 

In the time of Hen. VIII., one or two dra- 
matic pieces had been published under the 

Afterwards follows a table of the matters handled in the 
interlude; among which are, "f. Of certeyn conclusions 
prouvynge the yerthe must nedes be rounde, and that yt 

is in circumference above xxi M. myle." " %. Of certeyne 

points of cosmographye — and of dyvers straunge regyona 
— and of the new founde landys, and the maner of the 
people." This part is extremely curious, as it shows what 
notions were entertained of the new American discoveries 
by our own countrymen. 

* Described in Series the Second, preface to book ii. 
The Dramatis Person* of this piece are "If. Messenger, 
Lusty Juventus, Good Counsail, Knowledge, Sathan the 
devyll, Hypocrisie, Fellowship, Abominable-lyving, an har- 
lot], God's merciful promises." 

1 1 have also discovered some few Exeats and Intrats 
in the very old interlude of the " Four Elements." 



98 



ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 



classical names of comedy and tragedy,* 
but they appear not to have been intended 
for popular use : it was not till the religious 
ferments had subsided that the public had 
leisure to attend to dramatic poetry. In 
the reign of Elizabeth, tragedies and comedies 
began to appear in form, and, could the poets 
have persevered, the first models were good. 
" Corboduc," a regular tragedy, was acted in 
1561 ;f and Gascoigne, in 1566, exhibited 
" Jocasta," a translation from Euripides, as 
also " The Supposes," a regular comedy, from 
Ariosto : near thirty years before any of 
Shakspeare's were printed. 

The people however still retained a relish 
for their old mysteries and moralities,! and 
the popular dramatic poets seem to have 
made them their models. From the graver 
sort of moralities our modern Tragedy ap- 
pears to have derived its origin ; as our Come- 
dy evidently took its rise from the lighter in- 
terludes of that kind. And as most of these 
pieces contain an /absurd mixture of religion 
and buffoonery, an eminent critic § has well 
deduced from thence the origin of our unna- 
tural Tragi-comedies. Even after the people 
had been accustomed to tragedies and come- 
dies, moralities still kept their ground : one 
of them entitled "The New Custom"|| was 
printed so late as 1573 : at length they as- 
sumed the name of masques,^ and, with some 
classical improvements, became in the two 
following reigns the favourite entertainments 
of the court. 



* Bishop Bale had applied the name of Tragedy to his 
Mystery of " God's Promises," in lf>38. In 1540 John Pals- 
grave, B. I)., had republished a Latin comedy, called " Aco- 
lastus," with an English version. Holingshed tells us 
(vol. iii. p. 850), that so early as 1520 the king had "a good 
comedie of Plautus plaied" before him at Greenwich ; but 
this was in Latin, as Mr. Farmer informs us in his curious 
" Essay on the Learning of Shakespeare," 8vo. p. 31. 

t See Ames, p. 316. This play appears to have been 

first printed under the name of "Gorboduc;" then under 
that of " Ferrer and Porrer," in 1569; and 'again under 

" Gorboduc," 1590. Ames calls the first edition quarto, 

Langbaine, octavo, and Tanner 12mo. 

X The general reception the old Moralities had upon 
the stage, will account for the fondness of all our first poets 
for allegory. Subjects of this kind were familiar with 
every one. 

jS Bp. Warburt. Shakesp. vol. v. 

|| Reprinted among Dodsley's Old Plays, vol. 1. 

fl In some of these appeared characters full as extra- 
ordinary as in any of tho old Moralities. In Ben Jonson's 
Masque of Christmas, 1616, one of the personages is Minced 
Pye. 



IV. The old mysteries, which ceased to be 
acted after the reformation, appear to have 
given birth to a third species of stage exhibi- 
tion, which, though now confounded with 
tragedy and comedy, were by our first dra- 
matic writers considered as quite distinct 
from them both : these were historical plays, 
or histories, a species of dramatic writing 
which resembled thcold mysteries in represen- 
ting a series of historical events simply in the 
order of time in which they happened, without 
any regard to the three great unities. These 
pieces seem to differ from tragedies, just as 
much as historical poems do from epic : as 
the Pharsalia does from the iEneid. 

What might contribute to make dramatic 
poetry take this form was, that soon after the 
mysteries ceased to be exhibited, was pub- 
lished a large collection of poetical narratives, 
called "The Mirrour for Magistrates,"* 
wherein a great number of the most eminent 
characters in English history are drawn re- 
lating their own misfortunes. This book was 
popular, and of a dramatic cast ; and there- 
fore, as an elegant writerf has well observed, 
might have its influence in producing histori- 
cal plays. These narratives probably fur- 
nished the subjects, and the ancient mysteries 
suggested the plan. 

There appears indeed to have been one in- 
stance of an attempt at an historical play 
itself, which was perhaps as early as any 
mystery on a religious subject; for such, I 
think, we may pronounce the representation 
of a memorable event in English history, that 
was expressed in actions and rhymes. This 
was the old Coventry play of " Hock Tues- 
day,"! founded on the story of the massacre 
of the Danes, as it happened on St. Brice's 
night, November 13, 1002.$ The play in 
question was performed by certain men of 
Coventry, among the other shows and enter- 
tainments at Kenilworth Castle, in July, 
1575, prepared for Queen Elizabeth, and this 
the rather " because the matter mentioneth 



* The first part of which was printed in 1559. 

\ Catal. of Royal and Noble Authors, vol. p. 1667. 

X This must not be confounded with the mysteries acted 
on Corpus Christie day by the Franciscans at Coventry, 
which were also called Coventry Plays, and of which an 
account is given from T. Warton's Hist, of Eng. Poetry, 
&c, in Malone's Shaks. vol. ii. part ii. pag. 13. 14. 

j> Not 1012, as printed in Laneham's Letter, meutioned 
below. 



ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 



99 



how valiantly our English women, for the 
love of their country, behaved themselves." 

The writer, whose words are here quoted,* 
hath given a short description of the per- 
formance ; which seems on that occasion to 
have been without recitation or rhymes, and 
reduced to mere dumb show; consisting of 
violent skirmishes and encounters, first be- 
tween Danish and English " lance-knights on 
horseback," armed with spear and shield ; 
and afterwards between " hosts" of footmen ; 
which at length ended in the Danes being 
" beaten down, overcome, and many led cap- 
tive by our English women."f 

This play, it seems, which was wont to be 
exhibited in their city yearly, and which had 
been of great antiquity and long continuance 
there,{ had of late been suppressed, at the in- 
stance of some well meaning but precise 
preachers, of whose " sourness" herein the 
townsmen complain ; urging that their play 
was "without example of ill manners, papis- 
try, or any superstition ;"$ which shows it to 
have been entirely distinct from a religious 
mystery. But having been discontinued, 
and, as appears from the narrative, taken up 
of a sudden after the sports were begun, the 
players apparently had not been able to re- 
cover the old rhymes, or to procure new ones, 
to accompany the action ; which if it origi- 
nally represented " the outrage and importa- 
ble insolency of the Danes, the grievous 
complaint of Huna, king Ethelred's chieftain 
in wars ;"|| his counselling and contriving the 
plot to despatch them ; concluding with the 
conflicts above mentioned, and their final 
suppression — "expressed in actions and 



* Ro. Laneham, whose Letter, containing a full descrip- 
tion of the Shows, &c, is reprinted at large in Nieholls's 
Progresses of Q. Elizabeth, Ac, vol. i. 4to., 1788. — That 
writer's orthography, being peculiar and affected, is not 
here followed. 

Laneham describes this play of Hock Tuesday, which 
was " preseuted in an historical cue by certain good-hearted 
men of Coventry" (p. 32), and which was "wont to be 
play'd in their citie yearly" (p. 33), as if it were peculiar 
to them, terming it " their old storial show" (p. 32). — And 
so it might be as represented and expressed by them " after 
their manner" (p. 33) : although we are also told by Bevil 
Higgons, that St. Brice's Eve was still celebrated by the 
Northern English in commemoration of this massacre of 
the Danes, the women beating brass instruments, and 
singing old rhymes, in praise of their cruel ancestors. See 
his Short View of Eng. History, Svo., p. 17. (The Preface 
ie dated 1734.) 

f Laneham, p. 37. % Ibid. p. 33. 

? Ibid. || Ibid. p. 32. 



rhymes after their manner,"* one can hardly 
conceive a more regular model of a complete 
drama ; and, if taken up soon after the event, 
it must have been the earliest of the kind in 
Europe.f 

Whatever this old play, or " storial show,"$ 
was at the time it was exhibited to Queen 
Elizabeth, it had probably our young Shak- 
speare for a spectator, who was then in his 
twelfth year, and doubtless attended with all 
the inhabitants of the surrounding country, 
at these " princely pleasures of Kenilworth,"$ 
whence Stratford is only a few miles distant. 
And as the Queen was much diverted with 
the Coventry play, "whereat her majesty 
laught well," and rewarded the performers 
with two bucks and five marks in money : 
who, " what rejoicing upon their ample re- 
ward, and what triumphing upon the good 
acceptance, vaunted their play was never so 
dignified, nor ever any players before so bea- 
tified :" but especially if our young bard 
afterwards gained admittance into the castle 
to see a play, which the same evening, after 
supper, was there " presented of a very good 
theme, but to set forth by the actors' well 
handling, that pleasure and mirth made it 
seem very short, though it lasted two good 
hours and more,"|| we may imagine what an 
impression was made on his infant mind. In- 
deed the dramatic cast of many parts of that 
superb entertainment, which continued nine- 
teen days, and was the most splendid of the 
kind ever attempted in this kingdom ; the 
addresses to the Queen in the personated cha- 
racters of Sybille, a savage man, and Sylva- 
nus, as she approached or departed from the 
castle ; and, on the water, by Arion, a Triton, 
or the Lady of the Lake, must have had a 
very great effect on a young imagination, 
whose dramatic powers were hereafter to as- 
tonish the world. 

But that the historical play was considered 
by our old writers, and by Shakspeare him- 
self, as distinct from tragedy and comedy, 
will sufficiently appear from various passages 

* Laneham, p. 33. 

t The Rhymes, &c, prove this play to have been in Eng- 
lish, whereas Mr. Thos. Warton thinks the Mysteries com- 
posed before 1328 were in Latin. Malone's Shaksp. vol. 
ii. pt. ii. p. 9. 

% Laneham, p. 32. 

§ See Nichols's Progresses, vol. i. p. 57. 

|| Laneham, p. 38, 39. This was on Sunday evening, 
July 9. 



100 



ON TIIE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 



in their works. " Of late days," says Stow, 
" in place of those stage plays* hath been 
used comedies, tragedies, enterludes and his- 
tories both true and fayned."f — Beaumont 
and Fletcher, in the prologue to " The Cap- 
tain," say, 

" This is nor Comedy, nor Tragedy, 
Nor History." 

Poloniusin "Hamlet" commends the actors, 
as the best in the world, " either for tragedie, 
comedie,historie,pastorall," &c. AndShak- 
speare's friends, Heminge and Condell, in the 
first folio edition of his plays, in 1623, J have 
not only entitled their book " Mr. William 
Shakspeare's comedies, histories, and trage- 
dies :" but in their table of contents have 
arranged them under those three several 
heads ; placing in the class of histories, " K. 
John, Richard II., Henry IV., 2 pts. Henry 
V., Henry VI., 3 pts. Rich. III., and Henry 
VIII.;" to which they might have added such 
of his other plays as have their subjects taken 
from the old Chronicles, or Plutarch's lives. 

Although Shakspeare is found not to have 
been the first who invented this species of 
drarua,$ yet he cultivated it with such supe- 
rior success, and threw upon this simple inar- 
tificial tissue of scenes such a blaze of genius 
that his histories maintain their ground in 
defiance of Aristotle and all the critics of 
the classic school, and will ever continue to 
interest and instruct an English audience. 

Before Shakspeare wrote, historical plays 
do not appear to have attained this distinc- 
tion, being not mentioned in Q. Elizabeth's 
license in 1574|| to James Burbage and 
others, who are only impowered " to use, ex- 
ercyse, and occupie, the arte and facultye of 
playenge comedies, tragedies, enterludes, 
stage-play es, and such other like." — But when 
Shakspeare's histories had become the orna- 
ments of the stage, they were considered by 
the public, and by himself, as a formal and ne- 
cessary species, and are thenceforth so distin- 



* The Creation of the World, acted at Skinners Well 
in 1409. 

f See Stow's Survey of London, 1603, 4to., p. 94, (said 
in the title page to be " written in the year 1598.") See 
also Wnrton's Observations on Spenser, vol. ii. p. 109. 

J The same distinction is continued in the 2d and 3d 
folios, &c. 

\ See Malone's Sbaksp. vol. i. part ii. p. 31. 

I See Malone's Shaksp. vol. i. pt. ii. p. 37. 



guished in public instruments. They are 
particularly inserted in the license granted 
by K. James I., in 1603,* to W. Shakspeare 
himself, and the players his fellows ; who are 
authorized " to use and exercise the arte and 
faculty of playing comedies, tragedies, his- 
tories, interludes, morals, pastorals, stage- 
plaies, and such like." 

The same merited distinction they con- 
tinued to maintain after his death, till the 
theatre itself was extinguished ; for they are 
expressly mentioned in a warrant in 1G22, 
for licensing certain " late comedians of Q. 
Anne deceased, to bring up children in the 
qualitie and exercise of playing comedies, his- 
tories, interludes, morals, pastorals, stage- 
plaies, and such like."f The same appears 
in an admonition issued in 1637 % by Philip 
Earl of Pembroke and Montgomery, then 
Lord Chamberlain, to the master and war- 
dens of the company of printers and station- 
ers; wherein is set forth the complaint of his 
Majesty's servants the players, that "diverse 
of their books of comedyes and tragedyes, 
chronicle-historyes, and the like," had been 
printed and published to their prejudice, &c. 

This distinction we see, prevailed for near 
half a century; but after the Restoration, 
when the stage revived for the entertainment 
of a new race of auditors, many of whom 
had been exiled in France, and formed their 
taste from the French theatre, Shakspeare's 
histories appear to have been no longer 
relished ; at least the distinction respecting 
them is dropped in the patents that were im- 
mediately granted after the king's return. 

This appears not only from the allowance 
to Mr. William Beeston in June 1660, § to 
use the house in Salisbury-court "for a play- 
house, wherein comedies, tragedies, tragi- 
comedies, pastoralls, and interludes, may be 
acted," but also from the fuller grant (dated 
August 21, 1760)|| to Thomas Killegrew, 
Esq., and SirWilliamDavenant,knt., by which 

* See Malone's Shaksp. vol. i. pt. ii. p. 40. 

t Ibid. p. 49. Here Histories, or Historical Plays, are 
found totally to have excluded the mention of Tragedies ; 
a proof of their superior popularity. In an Order for the 
King's Comedians to attend K. Charles I. in his summer's 
progress, 1636 (Ibid. p. 144), Histories are .not particularly 
mentioned : but so neither are tragedies : they being briefly 
directed to " act playes, comedyes, and interludes, without 
any lett." &c. % Ibid, p. 139. 

jS This is believed to be the date by Mr. Malone, vol. ii. 
pt. ii. p. 239. || Ibid. p. 244. 



ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 



101 



they have authority to erect two companies 
of players, and to fit up two theatres " for 
the representation of tragydies, comedyes, 
playes, operas, and all other entertainments 
of that nature." 

But while Shakspeare was the favourite 
dramatic poet, his histories had such superior 
merit, that he might well claim to be the chief, 
if not the only historic dramatist that kept 
possession of the English stage ; which gives 
a strong support to the tradition mentioned 
by Gildon,* that, in a conversation with 
Ben Jonson, our bard vindicated his historical 
plays, by urging, that, as he had found " the 
nation in general very ignorant of history, he 
wrote them in order to instruct the people in 
this particular." This is assigning not only 
a good motive, but a very probable reason 
for his preference of this species of composi- 
tion ; since we cannot doubt but his illiterate 
countrymen would not only want such instruc- 
tion when he first began to write, notwith- 
standing the obscure dramatic chroniclers 
who preceded him ; but also that they would 
highly profit by his admirable lectures on 
English history so long as he continued to 
deliver them to his audience. And, as it 
implies no claim to his being the first who 
introduced our chronicles on the stage, I see 
not why the tradition should be rejected. 

Upon the whole, we have had abundant proof 
that both Shakspeare and his contempora- 
ries considered his histories, or historical 
plays, as of a legitimate distinct species, 
sufficiently separate from tragedy and comedy; 
a distinction which deserves the particular 
attention of his critics and commentators ; 
who, by not adverting to it, deprive him of 
his proper defence and best vindication for 
his neglect of the Unities, and departure from 
the classical dramatic forms. For, if it be 
the first canon of sound criticism to examine 
and work by whatever rule the author pre- 
scribed for his own observance, then we ought 
not to try Shakspeare's Histories by the 
general laws of tragedy or comedy. Whether 
the rule itself be vicious or not, is another 
inquiry ; but certainly we ought to examine 
a work only by those principles according to 
which it was composed. This would save a 
deal of impertinent criticism. 

* See Malone's Shaksp. vol. vi. p. 427. This ingenious 
writer will, with his known liberality, excuse the difference 
of opinion here entertained concerning the above tradition. 



V. We have now brought the inquiry as 
low as was intended, but cannot quit it, 
without entering into a short description of 
what may be called the OEconomy of the an- 
cient English stage. 

Such was the fondness of our forefathers for 
dramatic entertainments, that not fewer than 
nineteen play-houses had been opened before 
the year 1633, when Prynne published his 
Histriomastix.* From this writer it should 
seem that " tobacco, wine and beer,"f were 
in those days the usual accommodations in the 
theatre, as within our memory at Sadler's 
Wells. 

With regard to the players themselves, the 
several companies were (as hath been already 
shown) % retainers, or menial servants to 
particular noblemen, § who protected them 
in the exercise of their profession ; and many 
of them were occasionally Strollers, that 



* He speaks in p. 492, of the Playhouses in Bishopgate 
street, and on Ludgate Hill, 'which are not among the 
seventeen enumerated in the Preface to Dodsley'sOld Plays. 
Nay, it appears from Rymer's MSS. that twenty-three Play- 
houses had been at different periods open in London : and 
even six of them at one time. See Malone's Shaksp. vol. 
i. pt. ii. p. 48. 

t So, I think, we may infer from the following passage, 
viz. " How many are there, who, according to their several 
qualities, spend 2d., 3d., 4d., 6d., 12d., 18d., 2s., and some- 
times 4s. or 5s. at a play-house day by day, if coach-hire , boat- 
hire, tobacco, wine, beere, and such like vaine expences, 
which playes do usually occasion, be cast into the reckon- 
ing?" Prynne's Hystriom. p. 322. 

But that tobacco was smoked in the playhouses, appears 
from Taylor the water-poet, in his proclamation for tobacco's 
propagation. •' Let play-houses, drinking-schools, taverns, 
&c, be continually haunted with the contaminous vapours 
of it; nay (if it be possible) bring it into the Churches, 
and there choak up their preachers." (Works, p. 253.) 
And this was really the case at Cambridge: James I. sent 
a letter, in 1607, against " taking tobacco" in St. Mary's. 
So I learn from my friend Dr. Farmer. 

A gentleman has informed me, that once going into a 
church in Holland, he saw the male part of the audience 
sitting with their hats on, smoking tobacco, while the 
preacher was holding forth in his morning gown. 

% See the extracts above, in p. 139, from the Earl of 
Northumb. Houshold Book. 

\ See the Pref. to Dodsley's Old Plays.— The author of 
an old invective against the Stage, called a third Blast of 
Retrait from Plaies, Ac, 1580, 12mo., says, "Alas! that 
private affection should so raigne in the nobilitie, that to 
pleasure their servants, and to upholde them in their 
vanitye, they should restraine the magistrates from exe- 
cuting their office! .... They [the nobility] are thought to 
be covetous by permitting their servants ... to live at the 
devotion or almes of other men, passing from countrie to 
countrie, from one gentleman's house to another, offering 
their service, which is a kind of beggerie. Who indeede, 
to speake more truelie, are become beggers for their ser- 
vants. For comonlie the good-wil, men beare to their Lordes, 
makes them draw the stringes of their purses to extend 
their liberalitie." Vid. pag. 75, 76, &c 



102 



ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 



travelled from one gentlemen's house to ano- 
ther. Yet so much were they encouraged, 
that, notwithstanding their multitude, some 
of them acquired large fortunes. Edward 
Allen, master of the play-house called the 
Globe, who founded Dulwich College, is a 
known instance. And an old writer speaks 
of the very inferior actors, whom he calls the 
hirelings, as living in a degree of splendour, 
which was thought enormous in that frugal 
age.* 

At the same time the ancient prices of ad- 
mission were often very low. Some houses 
had penny-benches. f The " two-penny gal- 
lery" is mentioned in the prologue to Beau- 
mont and Fletcher's Woman-Hater, $ and 
seats of three-pence and a groat seem to be 
intended in the passage of Prynne above re- 
ferred to. Yet different houses varied in 
their prices : that play-house called the Hope 
had seats of five several rates from six-pence 
to half-a-crown.$ But a shilling seems to 



* Stephen Gossou, in his Schoole of Abuse, 1570, 12mo. 
fo. 23, says thus of what he terms in his margin Players- 
men : •• Over lashing in apparel is so common a fault, that 
the very hyeriings of some of our Players, which stand at 
revirsion of vi s. by the week, jet under gentlemens noses 
in sutis of silke, exercising themselves to prating on the 
stage, and common scoffing when they come abrode, where 
they look askance over the shoulder at every man, of whom 
the Sunday before they begged an almes. I speake not 
this, as though everye one that professeth the qualitae so 
abused liimselfe. for it is well knowen, that some of them 
are sober, discreete, properly learned, honest housholders 
and citizens, well-thought on among their neighbours at 
home - ' [he seems to mean Edw. Allen above mentioned], 
'■' thotigh the pryde of their shadowes (I meane those bange- 
byes, whom they succour with stipend) cause them to be 
somewhat il-talked of abroad." 

In a subsequent period we have the following satirical 
fling at the showy exterior and supposed profits of the 
actors of that time. — Yid. Greene's Groatsworth of Wit, 
1625, 4to. " What is your profession ?" — " Truly, sir, .... 

I am a Player." "A Player? I took you rather for 

a Gentleman of great living; for, if by outward habit men 
should be censured, I tell you, you would be taken for a 
substantial man." " So I am where I dwell .... What, 
though the world once went hard with me, when I was 
fayue to carry my playing-fardle a foot-backe: tempora 
tn/utantur .... for my very share in playing apparel will 
not be sold for two hundred pounds .... Nay more, I can 
serve to make a pretty speech, for I was a country author, 
passing at a Moral, &c." See Roberto's Tale, sign. D. 3. b. 

t So a MS. of Oldys, from Tom Nash, an old pamphlet- 
writer. And this is confirmed by Taylor the Water-poet, in 
his Praise of Beggerio, p. 99. 

" Yet have I seen a begger with his many, [sc. vermin] 
Come at a play-house, all in for one penny." 

X So in the Belman's Night-walks by Decker, 1616, 4to. 
" Pay thy ttvo-pence to a player, in this gallery thou mayest 
sit by a harlot." 

§ Induct to Ben Jonson's Bartholomew-fair. An ancient 
satirical piece, called " The Blacke Book, Lond. 1604, 4to." 



have been the usual price* of what is now 
called the Pit, which probably had its name 
from one of the play-houses having been a 
Cock-pit.f 

The day originally set apart for theatrical 
exhibition appears to have been Sunday; pro- 
bably because the first dramatic pieces were 
of a religious cast. During a great part of 
Queen Elizabeth's reign, the playhouses were 
only licensed to be opened on that day ;J 
but before the end of her reign, or soon after, 
this abuse was probably removed. 

The usual time of acting was early in the 
afternoon,? plays being generally performed 



talks of "The six-penny Roomes in Playhouses;" and 
leaves a legacy to one whom he calls " Arch-tobacco taker 
of England, in ordinaries, upon stages both common and 
private." 

* Shaksp. Prol. to Hen. VIII.— Beaum. and Fletch. Prol. 
to the Captain, and to the Mad-lover. 

■f This etymology hath been objected to by a very inge- 
nious writer (see Malone's Shaksp. vol. i. pt. ii. p. 591, who 
thinks it questionable, because, in St. Mary's church at 
Cambridge, the area that is under the pulpit, and sur- 
rounded by the galleries, is (now) called the pit ; which, he 
says, no one can suspect to have been a cock-pit, or that a 
playhouse phrase could be applied to a church. — But who- 
ever is acquainted with the licentiousness of boys, will not 
think it impossible that they should thus apply a name so 
peculiarly expressive of its situation : which from frequent 
use might at length prevail among the senior members of 
the university ; especially when those young men became 
seniors themselves. The name of pit, so applied at Cam- 
bridge, must be deemed to have been a cant phrase, until 
it can be shown that the area in other churches was usually 
so called. 

{ So Ste. Gosson, in his Schoole of abuse, 1579, 12mo., 
speaking of the players, says, "These, because they are 
allowed to play every Sunday, make iiii or v. Sundayes at 
least every week, fol. 24. — So the author of a Second and 
Third Blast of Retrait from Plaies, 1580, 12mo. " Let the 
magistrate but repel them from the libertie of plaeing on 
the Sabboth-daie .... To plaie on the Sabboth is but a 
privilege of sufferance, and might with ease be repelled, 
were it thoroughly followed," pag. 61, 62. So again, " Is 
not the Sabboth of al other daies the most abused ? . . . 
Wherefore abuse not so the Sabboth-daie, my brethren ; 
leave not the temple of the Lord." .... "Those unsaverie 
morsels of unseemelie sentences passing out of the mouth 
of a ruffenlie plaier, doth more content the hungrie humors 
of the rude multitude, and carrieth better rellish in their 
mouthes, than the bread of the worde," Ac. Yid. pag. 63, 
65, 69, &c. I do not recollect that exclamations of this kind 
occur in Prynne, whence I conclude that this enormity no 
longer subsisted in his time. 

It should also seem from the author of the Third Blast 
above quoted, that the churches still continued to be used 
occasionally for theatres. Thus, in p. 77, he says, that the 
players (who, as hath been observed, were servants of the 
nobility), " under the title of their maisters, or as reteiners, 
are priviledged to roave abroad, and permitted to publish 
their mametree in everie temple of God, and that through- 
out England, unto the horrible contempt of praier." 

§ " He entertaines us" (says Overbury in his character 
of an Actor) " in the best leasure of our life, that is, b» 



ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 



103 



by daylight.* All female parts were per- 
formed by men, no English actress being 
ever seen on the public stage, f before the 
Civil Wars. 

Lastly, with regard to the playhouse furni- 
ture and ornaments, a writer of King Charles 
the Second's time, J who well remembered 
the preceding age, assures us, that in gene- 
ral " they had no other scenes nor decorations 
of the stage, but only old tapestry, and the 
stage strewed with rushes, with habits ac- 
cordingly."£ 

Yet Coryate thought our theatrical exhibi- 
tions, &c, splendid when compared with what 
he saw abroad. Speaking of the theatre for 



tweene meales ; the most unfit time either for study, or 
bodily exercise." — Even so late as in the reign of Cha. II., 
plays generally began at 3 in the afternoon. 

* See Biogr. Brit. i. 117, n. D. 

f I say " no English Actress — on the public stage," be- 
cause Prynne speaks of it as an unusual enormity, that 
" they had French-women actors in a play not long since 
personated in Blackfriars Playhouse." This was in 1629, 
vid. page 215. And though female parts were performed 
by men or boys on the public stage, yet, in masques at 
court, the queen and her ladies made no scruple to perform 
the principal parts, especially in the reigns of James I. and 
Charles I. 

Sir William Davenant, after the Restoration, introduced 
women, scenery, and higher prices. See Cibber's Apology 
for his own Life. 

J See a short Discourse on the English Stage, subjoined 
to Flecknor's " Love's Kingdom," 1674, 12mo. 

# It appears from an Epigram of Taylor, the Water- 
poet, that one of the principal Theatres in his time, viz. 
The Globe on the Bankside, Southwark (which Ben Jonson 
calls the Glory of the Bank, and fort of the whole parish), 
had been covered with thatch till it was burnt down in 
1813.— See Taylor's Sculler, Epig. 22, p. 31. Jonson's Exe- 
cration on Vulcan. 

Puttenham tell us they used Vizards in his time, "partly 
to supply the want of players, when there were more parts 
than there were persons, or that it was not thought meet 
to trouble princes chambers with too many folkes." Art 
of Eng. Poes. 15S9, p. 26. From the last clause, it should 
seem that they were chiefly used in the Masques at Court. 



comedies at Venice, he says, " The house ia 
very beggarly and base, in comparison of our 
stately playhouses in England : neyther can 
their actors compare with ours for apparrell, 
shewes, and musicke. Here I observed cer- 
taine things that I never saw before: for I saw 
women act, a thing that I never saw before, 
though I have heard that it hath been some- 
times used in London : and they performed it 
with as good a grace, action, gesture, and 
whatsoever convenient for a player, as ever 
I saw any masculine actor."* 

It ought, however, to be observed, that, 
amid such a multitude of playhouses as sub- 
sisted in the Metropolis before the Civil Wars, 
there must have been a great difference be- 
tween their several accommodations, orna- 
ments, and prices ; and that some would be 
much more showy than others, though proba- 
bly all were much inferior in splendour to the 
two great theatres after the Restoration. 

*#* The preceding Essay, although some 
of the materials are new arranged, hath re- 
ceived no alteration deserving notice, from 
what it was in the Second edition, 1767, ex- 
cept in Section iv., which in the present im- 
pression hath been much enlarged. 

This is mentioned because since it was first 
published, the History of the English Stage 
hath been copiously handled by Mr. Thomas 
Warton in his " History of English Poetry, 
1774, &c." 3 vols. 4to. (wherein is inserted 
whatever in these volumes fell in with his 
subject) ; and by Edmond Malone, Esq., who 
in his " Historical Account of the English 
Stage," (Shaksp. vol. i. pt. ii., 1790), hath 
added greatly to our knowledge of the econo- 
my and usages of our ancient theatres. 



* Coryate's Crudities, 4to., 1611, p. 247. 



14 



104 



ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH, 



Jparo gcll, (Op at % (togl], ana WMm of Ctoeslg, 



— were three noted outlaws, whose skill 
in archery rendered them formerly as famous 
in the North of England, as Robin Hood and 
his fellows were in the midland counties. 
Their place of residence was in the forest of 
Englewood, not far from Carlisle, (called cor- 
ruptly in the ballad English-wood, whereas 
Engle- or Ingle- wood signifies wood for firing.) 
At what time they lived does not appear. 
The author of the common ballad on " The 
pedigree, education, and marriage, of Robin 
Hood," makes them contemporary with Robin 
Hood's father, in order to give him the honour 
of beating them : viz. 

The father of Robin a forrester was, 
And he shot in a lusty long-bow 

Two north-country miles and an inch at a 
shot, 
As the Pindar of Wakefield does know : 

For he brought Adam Bell, and Clim of the 
Clough, 
And William a Clowdeslee 
To shoot with our Forester for forty mark ; 
And our Forester beat them all three. 
Collect, of Old Ballads, 1727, 1 vol. p. 67. 

This seems to prove that they were common- 
ly thought to have lived before the popular 
hero of Sherwood. 

Our northern archers were not unknown 
to their southern countrymen: their excellence 
at the long-bow is often alluded to by our an- 
cient poets. Shakspeare, in his comedy of 
"Much adoe about nothing," act 1, makes 
Benedicke confirm his resolves of not yielding 
to love by this protestation, " If I do, hang 
me in a bottle like a cat,* and shoot at me, 
and he that hits me, let him be clapt on the 
shoulder, and called Adam :" meaning Adam 
Bell, as Theobald rightly observes, who refers 

* Bottles formerly were of leather ; though perhaps a 
•wooden bottle might be here meant. It is still a diversion 
in Scotland to hang up a cat in a small cask, or firkin, half 
filled with soot; and then a parcel of clowns on horseback 
try to beat out the ends of it, in order to show their dexte- 
rity in escaping before the contents fall upon them. 



to one or two other passages in our old poets 
wherein he is mentioned. The Oxford editor 
has also well conjectured, that "Abraham 
Cupid," in Romeo and Juliet, act ii. sc. 1, 
should be " Adam Cupid," in allusion to our 
archer. Ben Jonson has mentioned Clym o' 
the Clough in his Alchemist, act i. sc. 2. 
And Sir William Davenant, in a mock poem 
of his, called " The Long Vacation in Lon- 
don," describes the attorneys and proctors, 
as making matches to meet in Finsbury fields. 

" With loynes in canvass bow-case tyde :* 
Where arrowes stick with mickle pride; . . . 

Like ghosts of Adam Bell and Clymme, 
Sol sets for fear they'l shoot at him. 

Works, 1673, fol. p. 291. 

I have only to add further concerning the 
principal hero of this ballad, that the Bells 
were noted rogues in the north so late as the 
time of Queen Elizabeth. See in Rymer's 
Fcedera, a letter from Lord William Howard 
to some of the officers of state, wherein he 
mentions them. 

As for the following stanzas, which will be 
judged from the style, orthography, and 
numbers, to be of considerable antiquity, 
they were here given (corrected in some 
places by a MS. copy in the Editor's old folio) 
from a black-letter 4to. Imprinted at London 
in Lothburge by Wm. Copland (no date). 
That old quarto edition seems to be exactly 
followed in " Pieces of Ancient Popular 
Poetry, &c. Lond. 1791," 8vo., the variations 
from which, that occur in the following copy, 
are selected from many others in the folio 
MS. above mentioned, and when distinguished 
by the usual inverted ' comma' have been as- 
sisted by conjecture. 

In the same MS. this ballad is followed by 
another, entitled Younge Cloudeslee, being a 
continuation of the present story, and reciting 
the adventures of William of Cloudesly's son : 
but greatly inferior to this both in merit and 
antiquity. 

* i. e. Each with a canvass bow-case tied round his loins. 



AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY. 



105 



PART THE FIRST. 

Mery it was in the grene forest 

Amonge the leves grene, 
Whereas men hunt east and west 

Wyth bowes and arrowes kene ; 

To raise the dere out of theyr denne ; 5 

Suche sightes hath ofte bene sene ; 

As by thre yemen of the north countrey, 
By them it is I meane. 

The one of them hight Adam Bel, 

The other Clym of the Clough * 10 

The thyrd was William of Cloudesly, 
An archer good ynough. 

They were outlawed for venyson, 

These yemen everychone ; 
They swore them brethren upon a day 15 

To Englyshe wood for to gone. 

Now lith and lysten, gentylmen, 
That of myrthes loveth to here : 

Two of them were single men, 

The third had a wedded fere. 20 

Wyllyam was the wedded man, 
Muche more than was hys care : 

He sayde to hys brethren upon a day, 
To Carleile he would fare, 

For to speke with fayre Alyce his wife, 25 

And with his chyldren thre. 
By my trouth, sayde Adam Bel, 

Not by the counsell of me : 

For if ye go to Carlile, brother, 

And from thys wylde wode wende, 30 

If that the justice may you take, 

Your lyfe were at an ende. 

If that I come not to-morowe, brother, 

By pryme to you agayne, 
Truste you then that I am ' taken,' 35 

Or else that I am slayne. 

He toke hys leave of hys brethren two, 

And to Carlile he is gon : 
There he knocked at his owne windowe 

Shortlye and anone. 40 

V. 24, Caerlel, in P. C. passim. V. 35, take, P. C. tane, MS. 

* Clym of tfte Clough moans Clem. [Clement] of the Cliff : 
for so Clough signifies in the North. 



Wher be you, fayre Alyce, he sayd, 

My wife and chyldren three ? 
Lyghtly let in thyne owne husbande, 

Wyllyam of Cloudeslee. 

Alas ! then sayde fayre Alyce, 45 

And syghed wonderous sore, 
Thys place hath ben besette for you 

Thys halfe a yere and more. 

Now am I here, sayde Cloudeslee, 

I would that in I were. 50 

Now fetche us meate and drynke ynoughe, 
And let us make good chere. 

She fetched hym meate and drynke plentye, 

Lyke a true wedded wyfe ; 
And pleased hym with that she had, 55 

Whome she loved as her lyfe. 

There lay an old wyfe in that place, 

A lytle besyde the fyre, 
Whych Wyllyam had found of charytye 

More than seven yere. 60 

Up she rose, and forth shee goes, 
Evill mote shee speede therfore ; 

For shee had sett no fopte on ground 
In seven yere before. 

She went unto the justice hall, 65 

As fast as she could hye ; 
Thys nyght, shee sayd, is come to town 

Wyllyam of Cloudeslye. 

Thereof the justice was full fayne, 

And so was the shirife also : 70 

Thou shalt not trauaile hither, dame, for 
nought, 
Thy meed thou shalt have ere thou go. 

They gave to her a ryght good goune, 

Of scarlate, ' and of graine :' 
She toke the gyft, and home she wente, 75 

And couched her doune agayne. 

They raysed the towne of mery Carleile 

In all the haste they can ; 
And came thronging to Wyllyames house, 

As fast as they might gone. 80 

There they besette that good yeman 

Round about on every syde : 
Wyllyam hearde great noyse of folkes, 

That thither-ward fast hyed. 



10G 



ADAM BELL, CLTM OF THE CLOUGII, 



Alyce opened a backe wyuddwe, 

And loked all aboute, 85 

She was ware of the justice and shlrife bothe, 

Wyth a full great route. 

Alas! treason, cryed Alyce, 

Ever wo may thou be, 90 

Goe into my chamber, my husband, she sayd, 

Swete Wyllyam of Cloudeslee. 

He toke hys sweard and hys bucler, 
Hys bow and hys chyldren thre, 

And wente into hys strongest chamber, 95 
Where he thought surest to be. 



Fayre Alyce, like a lover true, 
Took a pollaxe in her hande: 

Said, He shall dye that cometh in 
Thys dore, whyle I may stand. 



100 



105 



Cloudeslee bente a right good bowe, 

That was of a trusty tre, 
He smot the justice on the brest, 

That hys arowe burst in three. 

' A' curse on his harte, saide William, 

Thys day thy cote dyd on ! 
If it had ben no better then myne, 

It had gone nere thy bone. 



Yelde the Cloudesle, sayd the justise, 
And thy bowe and thy arrowes the fro. 

' A' curse on hys hart, sayd fair Alyce, 111 
That my husband councelleth so. 

Set fyre on the house, saide the sherife, 

Syth it wyll no better be, 
And brenne we therin William, he saide, 

Hys wife and chyldren thre. 116 

They fyred the house in many a place 

The fyre flew up on hye ; 
Alas ! then cryed fayre Alice, 

I so we here shall die. 120 

William openyd a backe wyndow, 

That was in hys chamber hye, 
And there with shectes he did let downe 

His wife and children three. 

Have you here my treasure, sayde William, 
My wyfe and my chyldren thre : 126 

For Christes love do them no barme, 
But wreke you all on me. 



V. 85, sic. MS. slutp window, P. C. 



Wyllyam shot so wonderous well, 

Tyll hys arrowes were all agoe, 130 

And the fyre so fast upon hym fell, 
That hys bowstryng brent in two. 

The sparkles brent and fell upon 

Good Wyllyam of Cloudesle : 
Than was he a wofull man, and sayde, 135 

Thys is a cowardes death to me. 

Leever had I, sayd Wyllyam, 

With my sworde in the route to renne, 
Then here among my enemyes wode 

Thus cruelly to bren. 140 

He toke hys sweard and hys buckler, 

And among them all he ran, 
Where the people were most in prece, 

He smote downe many a man. 

There myght no man abyde hys stroakes, 
So fersly on them he ran : 146 

Then they threw wyndowes and dores on him, 
And so toke that good yeman. 

There they hym bounde both hand and fote, 
And in a deepe dungeon hym cast : 150 

Now, Cloudesle, saj-d the justice, 
Thou shalt be hanged in hast. 

' A payre of new gallowes, sayd the sherife, 

Now shal I for thee make ; 
And the gates of Carleil shal be shutte : 155 

No man shal come in therat. 

Then shall not helpe Clyrn of the Cloughe, 

Nor yet shall Adam Bell, 
Though they came with a thousand mo, 

Nor all the devels in hell. 160 

Early in the mornynge the justice uprose, 

To the gates first can he gone, 
And commaunded to be shut full close 

Lightile everychone. 

Then went he to the markett place, 165 

As fast as he coulde hye ; 
There a payre of new gallowes he set up 

Besyde the pyllorye. 

A lytle boy ' among them asked,' 

What meaned that gallow-tre ? 170 

They sayde to hange a good yeman, 

Called Wyllyam of Cloudesle. 

V. 151, Bic. MS. hye Justice, P. C. V. 153, 4, are contracted 
from the fol. MS. and P. C. 



AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY. 



107 



That lytle boye was the towne swyne-heard, 

And kept fayre Alyces swyne ; 
Oft he had seene William in the wodde, 175 

And geun hym there to dyne. 

He went out att a crevis of the wall, 
And lightly to the woode dyd gone ; 

There met he with these wightye yemen 
Shortly and anone. 180 

Alas ! then sayd the lytle boye, 

Ye tary here all too longe ; 
Cloudeslee is taken, and dampned to death, 

And readye for to honge. 

Alas ! then sayd good Adam Bell, 185 

That ever we saw thys daye ! 
He had better have tarryed with us, 

So ofte as we dyd him praye. 

He myght have dwelt in greene foreste, 
Under the shadowes greene, 190 

And have kepte both hym and us att reste, 
Out of all trouble and teene. 

Adam bente a ryght good bow, 

A great hart sone hee had slayne ; 194 
Take that, chylde, he sayde, to thy dynner, 

And bring me myne arrowe agayne. 

Now gow we hence, sayed these wightye yeo- 
men, 

Tarrye we no longer here ; 
We shall hym borowe by God his grace, 

Though we buy it full dere. 200 

To Caerleil wente these bold yemen, 

All in a mornyng of maye. 
Here is a fyt* of Cloudeslye, 

And another is for to saye. 

PART THE SECOND. 

And when they came to mery Carleile, 

All in ' the' mornyng tyde, 
They founde the gates shut them untyll 

About on every syde. 

Alas ! then sayd good Adam Bell, 5 

That ever we were made men ! 
These gates be shut so wonderous fast, 

We may not come therein. 



V. 179, yonge men, P. C. V. 190, sic MS. shadowes sheene, 
P C. V. 197, jolly yeomen, MS. wight yong men, P. C. 



Then bespake hym Clym of the Clough, 
Wyth a wyle we wyl us in bryng ; 10 

Let us saye we be messengers, 

Streyght come nowe from our king. 

Adam said, I have a letter written, 

Now let us wysely werke, 
We wyll saye we have the kynges seale ; 15 

I holde the porter no clerke. 

Then Adam Bell bete on the gates 
With strokes great and stronge : 

The porter marveiled, who was therat, 
And to the gates he thronge. 20 

Who is there now, sayde the porter, 
What maketh all thys knockinge ? 

We be tow messengers, quoth Clym of the 
Clough, 
Be come ryght from our kyng. 

We have a letter, sayd Adam Bel, 25 

To the justice we must itt bryng ; 

Let us in our message to do, 

That we were agayne to the kyng. 

Here commeth none in, sayd the porter, 
By hym that dyed on a tre, 30 

Tyll a false thefe be hanged, 
Called Wyllyam of Cloudesle. 

Then spake the good yeman Clym of the 
Clough, 

And swore by Mary fre, 
And if that we stande long wythout, 35 

Lyke a thefe hanged shalt thou be. 

Lo ! here we have the kynges seale : 

What, Lurden, art thou wode ? 
The porter went* it had been so, 

And lyghtly dyd off hys hode. 40 

Welcome is my lordes seale, he saide 

For that ye shall come in. 
He opened the gate full shortlye : 

An euyl openyng for him. 

Now are we in, sayde Adam Bell, 45 

Wherof we are full faine ; 
But Christ he knowes, that harowed hell, 

How we shall com out agayne. 



V. 38, Lordeyne, P. C. 

* i. e. weened, thought, (which last is the reading of the 
folio MS.)— Calais, or Rouen, was taken from the English 
by showing the governor, who could not read, a letter with 
the king's seal, which was all he looked at 



108 



ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH, 



Had we the keys, said Clim of the Clough, 
Ryght wel then shoulde we spede, 50 

Then might we come out wel ynough 
When we se tyme and nede. 

They called the porter to counsell, 

And wrang his necke in two, 
And caste hym in a depe dungeon, 55 

And toke hys keys hym fro. 

Now am I porter, sayd Adam Bel, 

Se brother the keys are here, 
The worst porter to merry Carleile 

That ' the' had thys hundred yere. 60 

And now wyll we our howes bend, 

Into the towne wyll we go, 
For to delyuer our dere brother, 

That lyeth in care and wo. 

Then they bent theyr good ewe bowes, 65 
And loked theyr stringes were round,* 

The markett place in mery Carleile 
They beset that stound. 

And, as they loked them besyde, 

A paire of new galowes ' they' see, 70 

And the justice with a quest of squyers, 

That judged William hanged to be. 

And Cloudesle lay ready there in a cart, 
Fast bound both fote and hand ; 

And a stronge rop about hys necke, 75 

All readye for to hange. 

The justice called to hym a ladde, 
Cloudeslees clothes hee shold have, 

To take the measure of that yeman, 

Ther after to make hys grave. 80 

I have sene as great mervaile, said Cloudesle, 

As betweyne thys and pryme, 
He that maketh a grave for mee, 

Hymselfe may lye therin. 

Thou speakest proudlye, said the justice, 85 
I will thee hange with my hande. 

Full wel herd this his brethren two, 
There styll as they dyd stande. 



* So Ascham in his Toxophilus gives a precept ; " The 
stringe must he rounde;" (p. 149, ed. 1761 ;) otherwise, we 
may conclude from mechanical principles, the arrow will 
not fly true. 



Then Cloudesle cast his eyen asyde, 

And saw hys ' brethren twaine 90 

At a corner of the market place, 
Redy the justice for to slaine. 

I se comfort, sayd Cloudesle, 

Yet hope I well to fare, 
If I might have my handes at wyll 95 

Ryght lytle wolde I care. 

Then spake good Adam Bell 

To Clym of the Clough so free, 
Brother, se you marke the justyce wel, 

Lo ! yonder you may him se : 100 

And at the shyrife shote I wyll 

Strongly wyth an arrowe kene ; 
A better shote in mery Carleile 

Thys seven yere was not sene. 

They loosed their arrowes both at once, 105 

Of no man had they dread ; 
The one hyt the justice, the other the sheryfe, 

That both theyr sides gan blede. 

All men voyded ; that them stode nye, 
When the justice fell to the grounde, 110 

And the sherife nye him by ; 
Eyther had his deathes wounde. 

All the citezens fast gan flye, 

They durst no longer abyde : 
There lyghtly they losed Cloudeslee, 115 

Where he with ropes lay tyde. 

Wyllyam start to an officer of the towne, 
Hys axe ' from' hys hand he wronge, 

On eche syde he smote them downe, 

Hee thought he taryed too long. 120 

Wyllyam sayde to his brethren two, 

Thys daye let us lyve and die, 
If ever you have nede, as I have now, 

The same shall you finde by me. 

They shot so well in that tyde, 125 

Theyr stringes wer of silke ful sure, 

That they kept the stretes on every side 
That batayle did long endure. 

They fought together as brethren true, 
Lyke hardy men and bolde, 130 

Many a man to the ground they threw 
And many a herte made colde. 



V. 105, lowsed thre, P. C. Ver. 103, can hied, MS. 



AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY. 



109 



But when their arrowes were all gon, 

Men preced to them full fast, 
They drew theyr swordes then anone, 135 

And theyr bowes from them cast. 

They went lyghtlye on theyr way, 
Wyth swordes and buclers round ; 

By that it was mydd of the day, 

They made many a wound. 140 

There was an out-horne* in Carleile blowen, 
And the belles backward dyd ryng, 

Many a woman sayde, Alas ! 

And many theyr handes dyd wryng. 

The mayre of Carleile forth com was, 145 

Wyth hym a ful great route : 
These yemen dred hym full sore, 

Of theyr lyves they stode in great doute. 

The mayre came armed a full great pace, 
With a pollaxe in hys hande ; 150 

Many a strong man wyth him was, 
There in that stowre to stande. 

The mayre smot at Cloudeslee with his bil, 

Hys bucler he brast in two, 
Full many a yeman with great evyll, 155 

Alas ! Treason they cryed for wo. 
Kepe well the gates fast, they bad, 

That these traytours therout not go. 

But al for nought was that they wrought, 
For so fast they downe were layde, 160 

Tyll they all thre, that so manfulli fought, 
Were gotten without, abraide. 

Have here your keys, sayd Adam Bel, 

Myne office I here forsake, 
And yf you do by my eounsell 165 

A new porter do ye make. 



He threw theyr keys at theyr heads, 
And bad them well to thryve,f 

And all that letteth any good yeman 
To come and comfort his wyfe. 



170 



Thus be these good yeman gon to the wod, 

As lyghtly as lefe on lynde ; 
The lough and be mery in theyr mode, 

Theyr enemyes were ferr behynd. 

V. 148, For of, MS. 

* Outborne is an old term signifying the calling forth 
of subjects to arms by the sound of a horn. See Cole's 
Lat. Diet. Bailey, &c. 

t This is spoken ironically. 



When they came to Englyshe wode, 175 

Under the trusty tre, 
There they found bowes full good, 

And arrowes full great plentye. 

i 

So God me help, sayd Adam Bell, 

And Clyrn of the Clough so fre, 180 

I would we were in mery Carleile, 
Before that fayre meynye. 

They set them downe, and made good chere, 

And eate and dranke full well. 
A second fyt of the wightye yeomen : 185 

Another I wyll you tell. 

PART THE THIRD. 

As they sat in Englyshe wood, 

Under the green-wode tre, 
They thought they herd a woman wepe, 

But her they mought not se. 

Sore then syghed the fayre Alyce : 5 

' That ever I sawe thys day !' 
For nowe is my dere husband slayne. 

Alas ! and wel-a-way ! 

Myght I have spoken wyth hys dere brethren, 
Or with eyther «f them twayne, 10 

To show them what him befell, 
My hart were out of payne. 

Cloudesle walked a lytle beside, 

He looked under the grene wood lynde, 

He was ware of his wife, and chyldren three, 
Full wo in harte and mynde. 16 

Welcome, wyfe, then sayde Wyllyam, 

Under ' this' trusti tre : 
I had wende yesterday, by swete saynt John, 

Thou sholdest me never ' have' se. 20 

" Now well is me that ye be here, 

My harte is out of wo." 
Dame, he sayde, be mery and glad, 

And thanke my brethren two. 

Herof to speake, said Adam Bell, 25 

I-wis it is no bote : 
The meate, that we must supp withall, 

It runneth yet fast on fote. 

V. 175, merry green wood, MS. V. 185, see part i. v. 197. 
V. 20, never had se, P. C. and MS. 



110 



ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH, 



35 



Then went they downe into a launde, 

These noble archares all thre ; 30 

Eche of them slew a hart of greece, 
The best that they cold se. 

Have here the best, Alyce, my wife, 

Sayde Wyllyam of Cloudeslye ; 
By cause ye so bouldly stode by me 

When I was slayne full nye. 

Then went they to suppere 

Wyth such meate as they had; 
And thanked God of ther fortune : 

They were both mery and glad. 40 

And when they had supped well, 

Certayne withouted lease, 
Cloudesle sayd, We wyll to our kyng, 

To get us a charter of peace. 

Alyce shal be at our sojournyng 45 

In a nunnery here besyde ; 
My tow sonnes shall wyth her go, 

And there they shall abyde. 

Myne eldest son shall go wyth me ; 

For hym have ' you' no care : 50 

And he shall bring you worde agayn, 

How that we do fare. 

Thus be these yemen to IBndon gone, 

As fast as they myght ' he,'* 
Tyll they came to the kynges pallace, 55 

Where they woulde nedes be. 

And whan they came to the kynges courte, 

Unto the pallace gate, 
Of no man wold they aske no leave, 

But boldly went in therat. 60 

They preced prestly into the hall, 

Of no man had they dreade : 
The porter came after, and dyd them call, 

And with them began to chyde. 

The usher sayde, Yemen, what wold ye have ? 

I pray you tell to me : 66 

You myght thus make offycers shent: 

Good syrs, of whence be ye ? 



Syr, we be out-lawes of the forest 
Certayne withouten lease ; 

And hether we be come to the kyng, 
To get us a charter of peace. 



70 



And whan they came before the kyng, 
As it was the lawe of the lande, 

The kneled down without lettyng, 
And eche held up his hand. 



75 



V. 50, have I no care, P. C. 
* i. e. hie, hasten. 



The sayed, Lord, we beseche the here, 

That ye wyll graunt us grace ; 
For we have slayne your fat falow dere 

In many a sondry place. 80 

What be your nams, then said our king, 

Anone that you tell me ? 
They sayd, Adam Bell, Clim of the Clough, 

And Wyllyam of Cloudesle. 

Be ye those theves, then sayd our kyng, 85 

That men have tolde of to me? 
Here to God I make an avowe, 

Ye shal be hanged al thre. 

Ye shal be dead without mercy, 

As I am kynge of this lande. 90 

He commanded his officers everichone, 

Fast on them to lay hande. 



Then they toke these good yemen, 
And arested them al thre : 

So may I thryve, sayd Adam Bell, 
Thys game lyketh not me. 



95 



But, good lorde, we beseche you now, 

That yee graunt us grace, 
Insomuche as ' frely' we be to you come, 

' As frely' we may fro you passe, 100 

With such weapons, as we have here, 

Tyll we be out of your place ; 
And yf we lyve this hundreth yere, 

We wyll aske you no grace. 

Ye speake proudly, sayd the kynge ; 105 

Ye shall be hanged all thre. 
That were great pitye, then sayd the quene, 

If any grace myght be. 

My lorde, whan I came fyrst into this lande 
To be your wedded wyfe, HO 

The fyrst boone that I wold aske, 
Ye would graunt it me belyfe : 

And I asked you never none tyll now ; 

Therefore, good lorde, graunt it me. 
Now aske it, madam, sayd the kynge, 115 

And graunted it shal be. 

V. Ill, 119, sic. MS. bowne, P. C. 



AND AVILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY. 



Ill 



Then, good my lord, I you beseche, 

These yeraen graunt ye me. 
Madame, ye myght have asked a boone, 119 

That shuld have been worth them all thre. 

Ye myght have asked towres, and townes, 

Parkes and forestes plente. 
None soe pleasant to my pay, shee sayd ; 

Nor none so lefe to me. 

Madame, sith it is your desyre, 125 

Your askyng graunted shal be ; 

But I had lever have given you 
Good market townes thre. 

The quene was a glad woman, 

And sayde, Lord, gramarcy ; 130 

I dare undertake for them, 

That true men shal they be. 

But, good my lord, speke som mery word, 

That comfort they may se. 
I graunt you grace, then sayd our king ; 135 

Wash, felos, and to meate go ye. 

They had not setten but a whyle 

Certayne without lesynge, 
There came messengers out of the north 

With letters to our kyng. 140 

And whan the came before the kynge, 
They knelt down on theyr kne ; 

And sayd, Lord, your officers grete you well, 
Of Carleile in the north cuntre. 

How fareth my justice, sayd the kyng, 145 

And my sherife also ? 
Syr, they be slayne without leasynge, 

And many an officer mo. 

Who hath them slayne ? sayd the kyng ; 

Anone that thou tell me. 150 

"Adam Bell, and Clime of the Clough, 

And Wyllyam of Cloudesle." 

Alas, for rewth ! then sayd our kynge : 

My hart is wonderous sore ; 
I had lever than a thousande pounde, 155 

I had knowne of thys before ; 

For I have graunted them grace, 

And that forth ynketh me : 
But had I knowne all thys before, 

They had been hanged all thre. 160 



V. 130, God a mercye, MD. 



The kyng hee opened the letter anone, 

Himselfe he red it thro, 
And founde how these outlawes had slain 

Thre hundred men and mo : 

Fyrst the justice, and the sheryfe, 165 

And the mayre of Carleile towne ; 

Of all the constables and catchipolles 
Alyve were ' scant' left one : 

The baylyes, and the bedyls both, 

And the sergeauntes of the law, 170 

And forty fosters of the fe, 
These outlawes had yslaw : 

And broke his parks, and slayne his dere ; 

Of all they chose the best ; 
So perelous out-lawes, as they were, 175 

Walked not by easte nor west. 

When the kynge this letter had red, 

In hys harte he syghed sore : 
Take up the tables anone he bad, 

For I may eat no more. 



180 



185 



The kyng called hys best archars 
To the buttes wyth hym to go : 

I wyll se these felowes shote, he sayd, 
In the north have wrought this wo. 

The kynges bowmen buske them blyve, 
And the quenes archers also ; 

So dyd these thre wyghte yemen ; 
With them they thought to go. 



There twyse, or thryse they shote about 
For to assay theyr hande ; 190 

There was no shote these yemen shot, 
That any prycke* myght stand. 



Then spake Wyllyam of Cloudesle ; 

By him that for me dyed, 
I hold hymn never no good archar, 

That shoteth at buttes so wyde. 

'At what a butte now wold ye shote?' 

I pray thee tell to me. 
At suche a but, syr, he sayd, 

As men use in my countree. 

Wyllyam wente into a fyeld, 

And ' with him' his two brethren : 

There they set up two hasell roddes 
Twenty score paces betwene. 



195 



200 



15 



V. 168, left but one, MS., not one, P. C. Ver. 185, b]y 
the, MS. Ver. 202, 203, to, P. C. Ver. 204, i. e. 400 yards. 



112 ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGII, AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY. 



I hold him an archar, said Cloudesle, 205 

That yonder wande cleveth in two. 
Here is none suche, sayd the kyng, 

Nor no man can so do. 

1 shall assaye, syr, sayd Cloudesle, 

Or that I farther go. 210 

Clondesly with a bearyng arowe 
Clave the wand in two. 

Thon art the best archer, then said the king, 

Forsothe that ever I se. 
And yet for your love, sayd Wyllyam, 215 

I wyll do more maystery. 

I have a sonne is seven yere olde, 

He is to me full deare ; 
I wyll hym tye to a stake ; 

All shall se, that be here ; 220 

And lay an apple upon'hys head, 
And go sy.<e score paces hym fro, 

And I my selfe with a broad ardw 
Shall cleve the apple in two. 

Now haste the, then sayd the kyng, 225 

By hym that dyed on a tre, 
But yf thou do not, as thou hest sayde, 

Hanged shalt thou be. 

And thou touche his head or gowne, 

In syght that men may se, 230 

By all the sayntes that be in heaven, 
I Bhall hange you all thre. 

That I have promised, said William, 

That I wyll never forsake. 
And there even before the kynge 235 

In the earth he drove a stake : 

And bound therto his eldest sonne, 
And bad hym stand styll thereat ; 

And turned the childes face him fro, 

Because he should not start. 240 

An apple upon his head he set, 

And then his bowe he bent : 
Syxe score paces they were meaten, 

And thether Cloudesle went. 

There he drew out a fayr brode arrowe, 245 

Hys bowe was great and longe, 
He set that arrowe in his bowe, 

That was both styffe and stronge. 

Vcr. 208, sic. MS., none that can, P. C. Ver. 212, to, P. C. 
Ver. 222, i. e. 120 yards. Ver. 243, sic MS., out met, P. C. 



He prayed the people, that wer there, 

That they ' all still wold' stand, 250 

For he that shoteth for such a wager 
Behoveth a stedfast hand. 

Muche people prayed for Cloudesle, 

That his lyfe saved myght be, 
And whan he made hym redy to shote, 255 

There was many weeping ee. 

' But' Cloudesle clcfte the apple in two, 

' His sonne he did not nee.' 
Over Gods forbode, sayde the kinge, 

That thou shold shote at me. 260 

I geve thee eightene pence a day, 

And my bowe shalt thou here, 
And over all the north countre 

I make the chyfe rydere. 

And I thyrtene pence a day, said the quene, 
By God, and by my fay ; 26G 

Come feche thy payment when thou wylt, 
No man shall say the nay. 

Wyllyam, make the a gentleman 

Of clothyng, and of fe: 270 

And thy two brethren, yemen of my chambre, 

For they are so semely to se. 

Your sonne, for he is tendre of age, 

Of my wyne-seller he shall be ; 
And when he commeth to mans estate, 275 

Better avaunced shall he be. 

And, Wyllyam, bring me your wife, said the 
quene, 

Me longeth her sore to se : 
She shall be my chefe gentlewoman, 

To governe my nurserye. 280 

The yemen thanked them all curteously. 

To some byshop wyl we wend, 
Of all the synnes, that we have done, 

To be assoyld at his hand. 

So forth be gone these good yemen, 285 

As fast as they might ' he' ;* 
And after came and dwelled with the kynge, 

And dye good men all thre. 

Thus endeth the lives of these good yemen ; 

God send them eternall blysse ; 290 

And all, that with a hand-bowe shoteth : 

That of heven may never mysse. Amen. 

Ver. 252, steedye, MS. Ver. 265, And I gaye the xvij 
pence, P. C. Ver. 282, And sayd to some Bishopp wee will 
wend, MS. 

* he, i. e. hie, hasten. See the Glossary. 



THE AGED LOVER RENOUNCETH LOVE. 



113 



II. 



%bj glgcb f akx gcn.ountctlr %nte. 



TnE grave-digger's song in Hamlet, act v., 
is taken from three stanzas of the following 
poem, though greatly altered and disguised, 
as the same were corrrupted by the ballad- 
singers of Shakspeare's time : or perhaps so 
designed by the poet himself, the better to 
suit the character of an illiterate clown. The 
original is preserved among Surrey's Poems, 
and is attributed to Lord Vaux, by George Gas- 
coigne, who tells us, it " was thought by 
some to be made upon his death-bed ;" a pop- 
ular error which he laughs at. (See his 
Epist, to Yong Gent, prefixed to his Posies, 
1575, 4to.) It is also ascribed to Lord Vaux 
in a manuscript copy preserved in the British 
Museum.* This lord was remarkable for 
his skill in drawing feigned manners, &c, for 
so I understand an ancient writer. "The 
Lord Vaux his commendation lyeth chiefly 
in the facilitie of his meetre, and the aptnesse 
of his descriptions such as he taketh upon 
him to make, namely in sundry of his songs, 
wherein he showeth the counter/ait action 
very lively and pleasantly." Arte of Eng. 
Poesie, 1589, p. 51. See another song by 
this poet in Series the Second, No. VIII. 

I loth that I did love 

In youth that I thought swete, 
As time requires : for my behove 

Me thinkes they are not mete. 

My lustes they do me leave, 5 

My fansies all are fled ; 
And tract of time begins to weave 

Gray heares upon my hed. 

For Age with steling steps 

Hath clawde me with his crowch, 10 

And lusty ' Youthe' away he leapes, 

As there had been none such. 



Ver. 6, be, P. C. [printed copy in 1557.] V. 10, Crowch 
perhaps should be clouch, clutch, grasp. Ver. 1 1, Life away 
she, P. C. 

* Hart. MSS. num. 1703, § 25. The readings gathered 
from that copy are distinguished here by inverted commas. 
The text is printed from the " Songs," Ac, of the Earl of 
Surrey and others, 1557, 4to. 



My muse doth not delight 

Me, as she did before : 
My hand and pen are not in plight, 15 

As they have bene of yore. 

For Reason me denies, 

' All' youthly idle rime ; 
And day by day, to me she cries, 

Leave off these toyes in tyme. 20 

The wrinkles in my brow, 

The furrowes in my face 
Say, Limping age will ' lodge' him now, 

Where youth must geve him place. 

The harbenger of death, 25 

To me I se him ride, 
The cough, the cold, the gasping breath, 

Doth bid me to provide 

A pikeax and a spade, 

And eke a shrowding shete, 30 

A house of clay for to be made 

For such a guest most mete. 

Me thinkes I heare the clarke, 

That knoles the carefull knell ; 
And bids me leave my ' wearye' warke, 35 

Ere nature me compell. 

My kepers * knit the knot, 

That youth doth laugh to scorne, 

Of me that ' shall bee cleane' forgot, 

As I had ' ne'er' bene borne. 40 

Thus must I youth geve up, 
Whose badge I long did weare : 

To them I yeld the wanton cup, 
That better may it beare. 



V. 18, This, P. C. Ver. 23, So Ed. 1583 ; 'tis hedge in Ed. 
1557, hath caught him, MS. V. 30, wyndynge-sheete, MS. 
V. 34, bell, MS. V. 35, wofull. P. C. V. 38, did , P. C. V. 
39, clene shal be, P. C. V. 40, not, P. C. 

» 
* Alluding perhaps to Eccles. xii. 3. 



114 



JEPIITIIAII JUDGE OF ISRAEL. 



Lo here the hared skull ; 45 

By whose balde sigrte I know, 
That stouping age away shall pull 

' What' youthful yeres did sow. 

For Beautie with her band, 
These croked cares had wrought, 50 



And shipped me into the land, 
From whence I first was brought. 

And ye that bide behinde, 
Have ye none other trust : 

As ye of claye were cast by kinde, 
So shall ye ' turne' to dust. 



55 



III. 



S*rt*M !»*«* 0f 3* mL 



In Shakspeare's Hamlet, act ii., the hero 
of the play takes occasion to banter Polonius 
with some scraps of an old ballad, which has 
never appeared yet in any collection: for 
which reason, as it is but short, it will not 
perhaps be unacceptable to the reader; who 
will also be diverted with the pleasant ab- 
surdities of the composition. It was retriev- 
ed from utter oblivion by a lady, who wrote 
it down from memory, as she had formerly 
heard it sung by her father. I am indebted 
for it to the friendship of Mr. Steevens. 

It has been said, that the original ballad, 
in blackletter, is among Anthony a Wood's 
Collections in the Ashmolean Museum. But, 
upon application lately made, the volume 
which contained this Song was missing, so 
that it can only now be given as in the former 
edition. 

The banter of Hamlet is as follows: 

"Hamlet. '0 Jeptha, Judge of Israel,' 
what a treasure hadst thou ! 

" Polonius. What a treasure had he, my 
lord? 

" Ham. Why, • One faire daughter, and no 
more, The which he loved passing well.' 

" Polon. Still on my daughter. 

" Ham. Am not I i' th' right, old Jeptha ? 

" Polon. If you call me Jeptha, my lord, 
I have a daughter, that I love passing well. 

" Ham. Nay, that follows not. 

" Polon. What follows then, my lord ? 

"Ham. Why, 'As by lot, God wot:' and 
then you know, ' It came to passe, As most 



V. 45, bare-hedde, MS., and some, P. CC. V. 48, Which, 
P. C, That MS., What is conject. 



like it was.' The first row of the pious chan- 
son will shew you more." 

Edit. 1793, vol. xv. p. 133. 

Have you not heard these many years ago, 

Jeptha was judge of Israel ? 
He had one only daughter and no mo, : 
The which he loved passing well : 

And, as by lott, 5 

God wot, 
It so came to pass, 
As Gods will was, 
That great wars there should be, 
And none should be chosen chief but he. 10 

And when he was appointed judge, 

And chieftain of the company, 
A solemn vow to God he made ; 
If he returned with victory, 

At his return 15 

To burn 
The first live thing, 
* * * * 

That should meet with him then, 

Off his house, when he should return agen 

It came to pass, the wars was oer, 21 

And he returned with victory ; 
His dear and only daughter first of all 
Came to meet her father foremostly : 

And all the way, 25 

She did play 
On tabret and pipe, 
Full many a stripe, 
With note so high, 
For joy that her father is come so nigh. 30 

V. 66, wast, P. C. 



A ROBYN JOLLY ROBYN. 



115 



But when he saw his daughter dear 

Coming on most foremostly, 
He wrung his hands, and tore his hair, 
And cryed out most piteously ; 

Oh ! it's thou, said he, 35 

That have brought me 
Low, 
And troubled me so, 
That I know not what to do. 

For I have made a vow, he sed, 

The which must be replenished : 40 

* * * * 

" What thou hast spoke 
Do not revoke : 



What thou hast said, 45 

Be not affraid ; 
Altho' it be I ; 
Keep promises to God on high. 

But, dear father, grant me one request, 

That I may go to the wilderness, 
Three months there with my friends to stay ; 
There to bewail my virginity ; 51 

And let there be, 
Said she, 
Some two or three 
Young maids with me." 
So he sent her away, 
For to mourn, for to mourn, till her dying day. 



IV. 



& pp tallg Sobp. 



In his " Twelfth Night," Shakspeare in- 
troduces the clown singing part of the two 
first stanzas of the following song ; which 
has been recovered from an ancient MS. of 
Dr. Harrington's at Bath, preserved among 
the many literary treasures transmitted to 
the ingenious and worthy possessor by a 
long line of most respectable ancestors. Of 
these only a small part hath been printed in 
the " Nugae Antiquse," 3 vols. 12mo. ; a work 
which the public impatiently wishes to see 
continued. 

The song is thus given by Shakspeare, act 
iv. sc. 2. (Malone's edit. iv. 93.) 

Clown. " Hey Robin, jolly Robin." [sing- 
ing.] 
" Tell me how thy lady does." 

Malvolio. Fool. 

Clown. " My lady is unkind, perdy. 

Malvolio. Fool. 

Clown. " Alas, why is she so ?" 

Malvolio. Fool, I say. 

Clown. " She loves another." Who calls, 

ha?" 

Dr. Farmer has conjectured that the song 
should begin thus : 

" Hey, jolly Robin, tell to me 
How does thy lady do ? 



My lady is unkind perdy — 
Alas, why is she so ?" 

But this ingenious emendation is now super- 
seded by the proper readings of the old song 
itself, which is here printed from what ap- 
pears the most ancient of Dr. Harrington's 
poetical MSS., and which has, therefore, been 
marked No. I. (scil. p. 68). That volume 
seems to have been written in the reign of 
King Henry VIII., and as it contains many 
of the poems of Sir Thomas Wyat, hath had 
almost all the contents attributed to him by 
marginal directions written with an old but 
later hand, and not always rightly, as, I think, 
might be made appear by other good authori- 
ties. Among the rest, this song is there at- 
tributed to Sir Thomas Wyat also ; but the 
discerning reader will probably judge it to 
belong to a more obsolete writer. 

In the old MS. to the 3d and 5th stanzas 
is prefixed this title, Responce, and to the 4th 
and 6th, Le Plaintif; but in the last instance 
so evidently wrong, that it was thought better 
to omit these titles, and to mark the changes 
of the dialogue by inverted commas. In 
other respects the MS. is strictly followed, 
except where noted in the margin — Yet the 
first stanza appears to be defective, and it 
should seem that a line is wanting, unless the 
four first words were lengthened in the tune. 



116 



A SONG TO THE LUTE IN MUSICKE. 



A RoBYN, 

Jolly Robyn, 
Tell me how thy leman doeth, 
And thou shalt knowe of myn. 

" My lady is unkyinde perde." 

Alack ! why is she so ? 
" She loveth another better than me : 

And yet she will say no." 

I fynde no such doublenes : 

I fynde women true. 
My lady loveth me dowtles, 

And will change for no newe. 



10 



" Thou art happy while that doeth last ; 

But I say, as I fynde, 
That women's love is but a blast, 15 

And torneth with the wynde." 

Suche folkes can take no harme by love, 

That can abide their torn. 
" But I alas can no way prove 

In love but lake and morn." 20 

But if thou wilt avoyde thy harme 

Lerne this lesson of me, 
At others fieres thy selfe to warmo, 

And let them warme with thee. 



|l j&mg la % State in §tek 



This sonnet (which is ascribed to Richard 
Edwards* in the " Paradise of Daintie Devi- 
ses," fo. 31, b.) is by Shakspeare made the 
subject of some pleasant ridicule in his "Ro- 
meo and Juliet," act iv. sc. 5, where he intro- 
duces Peter putting this question to the mu- 
sicians. 

"Peter. . . . why 'Silver Sound'? 'why 
' Musicke with with her silver sound'? what 
say you, Simon Catling ? 

" 1 Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath 
a sweet sound. 

" Pet. Pretty ! what say you, Hugh Re- 
becke ? 

" 2 Mus. I say, silver sound, because mu- 
Bicians sound for silver. 

" Pet. Pretty too ! what say you, James 
Soundpost ? 

" 3 Mus. Faith, I know not what to say. 

" Pet I will say it for you: It is 

' musicke with her silver sound,' because 
musicians have no gold for sounding." 

Edit, 1793, vol. xiv. p. 529. 

This ridicule is not so much levelled at the ! 
song itself (which for the time it was written 



Ver. 4. shall, MS. 

* Concerning him, see Wood's A then. Oxon. and Tanner's 
Biblioth. ; also Sir John Hawkin's Hist, of Music, &c. 



is not inelegant), as at those forced and unna- 
tural explanations often given by us painful 
editors and expositors of ancient authors. 

This copy is printed from an old quarto 
MS. in the Cotton Library (Vesp. A. 2-5), en- 
titled, " Divers things of Hen. viij's time :'' 
with some corrections from The Paradise of 
Dainty Devises, 1596. 

Where gripingegrefes the hart would wounde, 
And dolefulle dumps the mynde opprcsse, 

There musicke with her silver sound 
With specie is wont to send redresse; 

Of trobled mynds, in every sore, 5 

Swete musicke hathe a salve in store. 

In joye yt maks our mirthe abounde, 
In woe yt cheres our bevy sprites ; 

Be strawghted heads relyef hath founde, 9 
By musickes pleasaunte swete delightes: 

Our senses all, what shall I say more ? 

Are subjecte unto musicks lore. 



The Gods by musicke have theire prayse ; 

The lyfe, the soul therein doth joye : 
Fur, as the Romayne poet sayes, 

In seas, whom pyrats would destroy, 
A dolphin saved from death most sharpe 
Arion playing on his harpe. 



IS 



heavenly gyft, that rules the mynd, 19 
Even as tho sterne dothe rule the shippe ! 
musicke, whom the Gods assinde 



To comforte manne, whom cares would 
nippe ! 
Since thow bothe man and beste doest move, 
What beste ys he, wyll the disprove ? 



VI. 



Jiimj Ol^kto anfo tk §cggar-Uni^ 



— is a story often alluded to by our old dra- 
matic writers. Shakspeare, in his Romeo 
and Juliet, act ii. sc. 1, makes Mercutio say, 

" Her (Venus's) purblind son and heir, 

Young Adam* Cupid, he that shot so true, 
When King Cophetua loved the beggar- 
maid. 

As the 13th line of the following ballad 
seems here particularly alluded to, it is not 
improbable that Shakspeare wrote it " shot 
so trim," which the players or printers, not 
perceiving tho allusion, might alter to "true." 
The former, as being the more humorous ex- 
pression, seems most likely to have come from 
the mouth of Mercutio.f 

In the 2d part of Hen. IV., act v. sc. 3, 
Falstaff is introduced affectedly saying to 
Pistoll, 

" base Assyrian knight, what is thy news? 
Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof." 

These lines, Dr. Warburton thinks, were taken 
from an old bombast play of " King Cophe- 
tua." No such play is, I believe, now to be 
found ; but it does not therefore follow that 
it never existed. Many dramatic pieces are 
referred to by old writers,! which are not 
now extant, or even mentioned in any list. 
In the infancy of the stage, plays were often 
exhibited that were never printed. 

It is probably in allusion to the same play 
that Ben Jonson says, in his Comedy of 
' ' Every Man in his Humour," act iii. sc. 4, 

* See above, Preface to Song i. Book ii. of this vol. p. 15S. 

f Since this conjecture first occurred, it has been disco- 
vered lli.it "shot so trim" was the genuine reading. See 
Shakspeare ed. 1793, xiv. 393. 

t See Meres Wits Treas. f. 283. Arte of Eng. Poes - ; 1589, 
p. 51, 111, 143, 1G9. 



" I have not the heart to devour thee, an' I 
might be made as rich as King Cophetua." 
At least there is no mention of King Cophe- 
tua's riches in the present ballad, which is 
the oldest I have met with on the subject. 

It is printed from Rich. Johnson's " Crown 
Garland of Goulden Roses," 1612, 12mo. 
(where it is entitled simply " A Song of a 
Beggar and a King") : corrected by another 
copy. 

I read that once in Affrica 

A princely wight did raine, 
Who had to name Cophetua, 

As poets they did faine : 
From natures lawes he did decline, 5 

For sure he was not of my mind, 
He cared not for women-kinde, 

But did them all disdaine. 
But marke, what hapned on a day, 
As he out of his window lay, 10 

He saw a beggar all in gray, 

The which did cause his paine. 

The blinded boy, that shootes so trim. 

From heaven downe did hie ; 
He drew a dart and shot at him, 15 

In place where he did lye : 
Which soono did pierse him to the quicke, 
And when he felt the arrow pricke, 
Which in his tender heart did sticke 

He looketh as he would dye. 20 

What sudden chance is this, quoth he, 
That I to love must subject bo, 
Which never thereto would agree, 

But still did it dene ? 



Then from the window he did come, 

And laid him on his bed, 
A thousand heapes of care did runne 

Within his troubled head : 



25 



118 



KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR-MAID. 



For now he mcanes to crave her love, 
And now he seekes which way to proove 
How he his fancie might remoove, 31 

And not this beggar wed. 
But Cupid had him so in snare, 
That this poor beggar must prepare 
A salve to cure him of his care, 35 

Or els he would be dead. 

And, as he musing thus dyd lye, 

He thought for to devise 
How he might have her companye, 

That did so 'maze his eyes. 40 

In thee, quoth he, doth rest my life : 
For surely thou shalt be my wife, 
Or else this hand with bloody knife 

The Gods shall sure suffice. 
Then from his bed he soon arose, 45 

And to his pallace gate he goes ; 
Full little then this begger knowes 

When she the king espies. 

The Gods preserve your majesty, 

The beggers all gan cry : 50 

Vouchsafe to give your charity 

Our childrens food to buy. 
The king to them his pursse did cast, 
And they to part it made great haste ; 
This silly woman was the last 55 

That after them did hye. 
The king he cal'd her back againe, 
And unto her he gave his chaine ; 
And said, With us you shal remaine 

Till such time as we dye : 60 

For thou, quoth he, shalt be my wife, 

And honoured for my queene ; 
With thee I meane to lead my life, 

As shortly shall be seene : 
Our wedding shall appointed be, 65 

And every thing in its degree : 
Come on, quoth he, and follow me, 

Thou shalt go shift thee cleane. 
What is thy name, faire maid ? quoth he. 
Penelophon,* king, quoth she : 70 

With that she made a lowe courtsey ; 

A trim one as I weene. 



* Shakspeare (who alludes to this ballad in his " Love's 
Labour lost," act. ir. sc. 1), gives the Beggar's name Zenelo- 
phon, according to all the old editions : but this seems to be 
a corruption ; for Penelophon, in the text, souuds more like 
the name of a woman. — The story of the King and the 
Beggar is also alluded to in K. Rich. II. act v. sc. 3. 



Thus hand in hand along they walke 

Unto the king's pallace : 
The king with courteous comly talke 75 

This begger doth imbrace : 
The begger blusheth scarlet red, 
And straight againe as pale as lead, 
But not a word at all she said, 

She was in such amaze. 80 

At last she spake with trembling voyce, 
And said, O king, I doe rejoyce 
That you wil take me for your choyce, 

And my degree's so base. 

And when the wedding day was come, 85 

The king commanded strait 
The noblemen both all and some 

Upon the queene to wait. 
And she behaved herself that day, 
As if she had never walkt the way : 90 
She had forgot her gown of gray, 

Which she did weare of late. 
The proverbe old is come to passe, 
The priest, when he begins his masse, 
Forgets that ever clerke he was ; 95 

He knowth not his estate. 

Here you may read, Cophetua, 

Though long time fancie-fed, 
Compelled by the blinded boy 

The begger for to wed : 100 

He that did lovers lookes disdaine, 
To do the same was glad and faine, 
Or els he would himselfe have slaine, 

In storie, as we read. 
Disdaine no whit, O lady deere, 105 

But pitty now thy servant heere, 
Least that it hap to thee this yeare, 

As to that king it did. 

And thus they led a quiet life 

During their princely raigne : 110 

And in a tombe were buried both, 

As writers sheweth plaine. 
The lords they tooke it grievously, 
The ladies tooke it heavily, 
The commons cryed pitiously, 115 

Their death to them was paine, 
Their fame did sound so passingly 
That it did pierce the starry sky, 
And throughoute all the world did flye 

To every princes realme.* 



V. 90, i. e. tramped the streets. V. 105, Here the Poet 
addresses himself to his mistress. V. 112, Sheweth was 
anciently the plur. numb. 

* An ingenious friend thinks the two last stanzas should 
change place. 



TAKE THY OLD CLOAK ABOUT THEE. 



119 



VII. 



%i\k % ©lb (tali afaroi ike. 



— is supposed to have been originally a Scotch 
ballad. The reader here has an ancient copy 
in the English idiom, with an additional 
stanza (the 2d) never before printed. This 
curiosity is preserved in the Editor's folio 
MS., but not without corruptions, which are 
here removed by the assistance of the Scottish 
Edition. Shakspeare, in his Othello, act ii., has 
quoted one stanza, with some variations, 
which are here adopted : the old MS. read- 
ings of that stanza are however given in the 
margin. 

This winters weather itt waxeth cold, 

And frost doth freese on every hill, 
And Boreas blowes his blasts soe bold, 

That all our cattell are like to spill ; 
Bell my wiffe, who loves noe strife, 5 

Shee sayd unto me quietlye, 
Rise up, and save cow Cumbockes liffe, 

Man, put thine old cloake about thee. 

He. 

Bell, why dost thou flyte ' and scorne V 
Thou kenst my cloak is very thin : 10 

Itt is soe bare and overworne 
A cricke he theron cannot renn : 

Then He no longer borrowe nor lend, 
' For once He new appareld bee, 

To-morrow He to towne and spend,' 15 

For He have a new cloake about mee. 

She. 
Cow Crumbocke is a very good cowe, 

Shee ha beene alwayes true to the payle 
Shee has helpt us to butter and cheese, I trow, 

And other things shee will not fayle ; 20 

1 wold be loth to see her pine, 

Good husband, councell take of mee, 
It is not for us to go soe fine, 

Man, take thine old cloake about thee. 

He. 

My cloake it was a very good cloake, 25 

Itt hath been alwayes true to the weare, 

But now it is not worth a groat ; 
I have had it four and forty yeere : 

Sometime itt was of cloth in grain e, 

'Tis now but a sigh clout as you may see, 
16 



It will neither hold out winde nor raine ; 31 
And He have a new cloake about mee. 

She. 
It is four and fortye yeeres agoe 

Since the one of us the other did ken, 
And we have had betwixt us towe 35 

Of children either nine or ten ; 
Wee have brought them up to women and 
men ; 

In the feare of God I trow they bee ; 
And why wilt thou thyselfe misken ? 

Man, take thine old cloake about thee. 40 

He. 
Bell my wiffe, why dost thou ' floute V 

Now is nowe, and then was then : 
Seeke now all the world throughout, 

Thou kenst not clownes from gentlemen. 
They are cladd in blacke, greene, yellowe, or 
gray, 45 

Soe far above their owne degree : 
Once in my life He ' doe as they,' 

For He have a new cloake about mee. 

She. 
King Stephen was a worthy peere, 

His breeches cost him but a crowne, 50 
He held them sixpence all too deere ; 

Therefore he calld the taylor Lowne. 
He was a wight of high renowne, 

And thouse but of a low degree : 
Itt's pride that putts this countrye downe, 55 

Man, take thine old cloake about thee. 

He. 

' Bell my wife she loves not strife, 

Yet she will lead me if she can ; 
And oft, to live a quiet life, 

I am forced to yield, though Ime good- 
man ;' 60 
Itt's not for a man with a woman to threape, 

Unlesse he first gave oer the plea : 
As wee began wee now will leave, 

And He take mine old cloake about mee. 

V. 41, flyte, MS. V. 49, King Harry . . a very good king, 
MS. V. 50, 1 trow his hose cost but, MS. V. 51, He thought 
them 12d. to deere, MS. V. 52, clowne, MS. V. 53, He 
was king and ware the crowne, MS. 



120 



WILLOW, WILLOW, WILLOW. 



VIII. 

Millolu, Miflto, WWhto. 



It is from the following stanzas that Shak- 
speare has taken his song of the " Willow," 
in his Othello, act iv. sc. 3, though somewhat 
varied and applied by him to a female cha- 
racter. He makes Desdemona introduce it 
in this pathetic and affecting manner : 

" My mother had a maid calPd Barbara : 

She was in love ; and he she lov'd prov'd 
mad, 

And did forsake her. She had a song of — 
Willow. 

An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her for- 
tune, 

Aud she died singing it." 

Ed. 1793, vol. xv. p. 613. 

This is given from a black-letter copy in 
the Pepys collection, thus entitled, "A Lover's 
Complaint, being forsaken of his Love." To 
a pleasant tune. 

A poore soule sat sighing under a sicamore 
tree ; 
willow, willow, willow ! 
With his hand on his bosom, his head on his 
knee : 
willow, willow, willow ! 
willow, willow, willow ! 5 

Sing, the greene willow shall be my gar- 
land. 

He sigh'd in his singing, and after each grone, 

Come willow, &c. 
I am dead to all pleasure, my true-love is 
gone; 
willow, &c. 10 

Sing, the greene willow shall be my gar- 
land. 

My love she is turned ; untrue she doth prove; 

willow, &c. 
She renders me nothing but hate for my love. 

willow, &c. 15 

Sing, the greene willow, &c. 

pitty me, (cried he), ye lovers, each one ; 
willow, &c. 



Her heart's hard as marble ; she rues not my 
mone. 
willow, &c. 20 

Sing, the greene willow, &c. 

The cold streams ran by him. his eyes wept 
apace ; 
willow,&c. 
The salt tears fell from him, which drowned 
his face : 
willow, &c. 25 

Sing, the greene willow, &c. 

The mute birds sate by him, made tame by 
his mones ; 
willow, &c. 
The salt tears fell from him, which softened 
the stones. 
willow, &c. 30 

Sing, the greene willow, &c. 

Let nobody blame me, her scornes I do prove; 

willow, &c. 
She was borne to be faire ; I, to die for her 
love. 

willow, &c. 35 

Sing, the greene willow, &c. 

that beauty should harbour a heart that's 
so hard ! 

Sing willow, &c. 
My true love rejecting without all regard. 

willow, &c. 40 

Sing, the greene willow, &c. 

Let love no more boast him in palace or 
bower ; 
willow, &c. 
For women are trothles, and flote in an 
houre. 
willow, &c. 45 

Sing, the greene willow, &c. 

But what helps complaining? In vaine I 
complaine : 
willow, &c. 



WILLOW, WILLOW, WILLOW. 



121 



I must patiently suffer her scorne and dis- 
daine. 50 

willow, &c. 
Sing, the greene willow, &c. 

Come, all you forsaken, and sit down by me, 

willow, &c. 
He that 'plaines of his false love, mine's 
falser than she. 

willow, &c. 55 

Sing, the greene willow, &c. 

The willow wreath weare I, since my love did 
fleet; 
willow, &c. 
A garland for lovers forsaken most meete. 

willow, &c. 
Sing, the greene willow shall be my gar- 
land ! 

PART THE SECOND. 

Lowe lay'd by my sorrow, begot by disdaine; 

willow, willow, willow ! 
Against her to cruell, still still I complaine, 

willow, willow, willow ! 

willow, willow, willow ! 5 

Sing, the greene willow shall be my gar- 
land ! 

love too injurious, to wound my poore 
heart ! 

willow, &c. 
To suffer the triumph, and joy in my smart ; 

willow, &c. 10 

Sing, the greene willow, &c. 

willow, willow, willow ! the willow garland, 

willow, &c. 
A sign of her falsenesse before me doth stand : 

willow, &c. 15 

Sing, the greene willow, &c. 

As here it doth bid to despair and to dye, 

willow, &c. 
So hang it, friends, ore me in grave where I 
lye: 
willow, Ac. 20 

Sing, the greene willow shall be my gar- 
land. 

In grave where I rest mee, hang this to the 
view, 
willow, &c. 



Of all that doe knowe her, to blaze her untrue. 
willow, &c. 25 

Sing, the greene willow, &c. 

With these words engraven, as epitaph meet, 

willow, &c. 
" Here lyes one, drank poyson for potion most 
sweet." 

willow, &c. 30 

Sing, the greene willow, &c. 

Though she thus unkindly hath scorned my 
love, 

willow, &c. 
And carelessly smiles at the sorrowes I prove ; 

willow, &c. 35 

Sing, the greene willow, &c. 

I cannot against her unkindly exclaim, 

willow, &c. 
Cause once well I loved her, and honoured 
her name: 

willow, &c. 40 

Sing, the greene willow, &c. 

The name of her sounded so sweete in mine 
eare, 
willow, &c. 
It rays'd my heart lightly, the name of my 
deare ; 
willow, &c. 45 

Sing, the greene willow shall be my gar- 
land. 

As then 'twas my comfort, it now is my 
griefe ; 
willow, &c. 
It now brings me anguish ; then brought me 
reliefe. 
willow, &c. 50 

Sing, the greene willow, &c. 

Farewell, faire false hearted: plaints end 
with my breath ! 
willow, willow, willow ! 
Thou dost loath me, I love thee, though cause 
of my death. 
O willow, willow, willow ! 
willow, willow, willow ! 
Sing, the greene willow shall be my gar- 
land. 



16 



122 



SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE. 



XL 



£ir fauulflt U gxl& 



This ballad is quoted in Shakspeare's 
second part of Henry IV., act ii. The sub- 
ject of it is taken from the ancient romance 
of King Arthur (commonly called Morte 
Arthur), being a poetical translation of chap. 
cviii., cix., ex., in part 1st, as they stand in 
ed. 1634, 4to. In the older editions the chap- 
ters are differently numbered. — This song is 
given from a printed copy, corrected in part 
by a fragment in the editor's folio MS. 

In the same play of 2 Henry IV., Silence 
hums a scrap of one of the old ballads of 
Robin Hood. It is taken from the following 
stanza of " Robin Hood and the Pindar of 
Wakefield :"— 

All this beheard three wighty yeomen, 
Twas Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John : 

With that they espy'd the jolly Pindar 
As he sate under a throne. 

That ballad may be found on every stall, 
and therefore is not here reprinted. 

When Arthur first in court began, 

And was approved king, 
By force of amies great victorys wanne, 

And conquest home did bring. 

Then into England straight he came 5 

With fifty good and able 
Knights, that resorted unto him, 

And were of his round table : 

And he had justs and turnaments, 

Wherto were many prest, 10 

Wherein some knights did far excell 
And eke surmount the rest. 

But one Sir Lancelot du Lake, 

Who was approved well, 
He for his deeds and feats of armes 15 

All others did excell. 

When he had rested him a while, 
In play, and game, and sportt, 



He said he wold goe prove himselfe 
In some adventurous sort. 

He armed rode in a forrest wide, 
And met a damsell faire, 

Who told him of adventures great, 
Wherto he gave great eare. 



20 



25 



V. 18, to sportt, MS. 



Such wold I find, quoth Lancelott : 

For that cause came I hither. 
Thou seemst, quoth shee, a knight full good, 

And I will bring thee thither. 

Wheras a mighty knight doth dwell, 

That now is of great fame : 30 

Therfore tell me what wight thou art, 
And what may be thy name. 

" My name is Lancelot du Lake." 

Quoth she, it likes me than : 
Here dwells a knight who never was 35 

Yet matcht with any man : 

Who has in prison threescore knights 

And four, that he did wound ; 
Knights of King Arthurs court they be, 

And of his table round. 40 

She brought him to a river side, ' 

And also to a tree, 
Whereon a copper bason hung, 

And many shields to see. 

He struck soe hard, the bason broke ; 45 

And Tarquin soon he spyed : 
Who drove a horse before him fast, 

Whereon a knight lay tyed. 

Sir knight, then sayd Sir Lancelott, 
Bring me that horse-load hither, 50 

And lay him downe, and let him rest ; 
Weel try our force together : 

For, as I understand, thou hast, 
Soe far as thou art able, 



V. 29, Where is often read by our old writers for whereas; 
here it is just the contrary. 



SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE. 



123 



Done great despite and shame unto 55 

The knights of the Round Table. 

If thou be of the Table Round, 

Quoth Tarquin speedilye, 
Both thee and all thy fellowship 

I utterly defye. 60 

That's over much, quoth Lancelott tho, 

Defend thee by and by. 
They sett their speares unto their steeds, 

And eache att other flie. 

They coucht theire speares (their horses ran, 
As though there had beene thunder), 66 

And strucke them each immidst their shields, 
Wherewith they broke in sunder. 



Their horsses backes brake under them, 
The knights were both astound : 

To avoyd their horsses they made haste 
And light upon the ground. 



70 



They tooke them to their shields full fast, 
They swords they drew out than, 

With mighty strokes most eagerlye 75 

Each at the other ran. 

They wounded were, and bled full sore, 
They both for breath did stand, 

And leaning on their swords awhile, 

Quoth Tarquine, Hold thy hand, 80 

And tell to me what I shall aske, 

Say on, quoth Lancelot tho. 
Thou art, quoth Tarquine, the best knight 

That ever I did know ; 

And like a knight that I did hate : 85 

Soe that thou be not hee, 
I will deliver all the rest, 

And eke accord with thee. 

That is well said, quoth Lancelott ; 

But sith it must be soe, 90 

What knight is that thou hatest thus ? 

I pray thee to me show. 



His name is Launcelot du Lake, 
He slew my brother deere ; 

Him I suspect of all the rest : 
I would I had him here. 



95 



Thy wish thou hast, but yet unknowne, 

I am Lancelot du Lake, 
Now knight of Arthurs Table Round ; 

King Hauds son of Schuwake ; 100 

And I desire thee to do thy worst. 

Ho, ho, quoth Tarqin tho, 
One of us two shall end our lives 

Before that we do go. 

If thou be Lancelot du Lake, 105 

Then welcome shalt thou bee : 
Wherfore see thou thyself defend, 

For now defye I thee. 

They buckled then together so, 

Like unto wild boares rashing :* 110 

And with their swords and shields they ran 

At one another slashing : 

The ground besprinkled was wyth blood : 

Tarquin began to yield ; 
For he gave backe for wearmesse, 115 

And lowe did beare his shield. 

This soone Sir Lancelot espyde, 

He leapt upon him then, 
He pull'd him downe upon his knee, 

And rushing off his helm, 120 

Forthwith he strucke his necke in two, 

And, when he had soe done, 
From prison threescore knights and four 

Delivered everye one. 



* Rashing seems to be the old hunting term to express 
the stroke made by the wild-boar with his fangs. To rase 
has apparently a meaning something similar. See Mr. 
Steevens's Note on K. Lear, act. iii. sc. 7 (ed. 1793, toI. xiv. 
p. 193), where the quartos read, 

" Nor thy fierce sister 
In his anointed flesh rash boarish fangs." 
So in K. Richard III, act iii., sc. 2 (toI. x. p. 567, 583). 
" He dreamt 
To night the Roar had rased off his helm." 



124 



GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE. 



X. 



Corson's fatetoell ta flnllis, 



— is an attempt to paint a lover's irresolution, 
but so poorly executed, that it would not 
have been admitted into this collection, if it 
had not been quoted in Shakspeare's Twelfth- 
Night, act ii. sc. 3. — It is found in a little 
ancient miscellany, entitled "The Golden 
Garland of Princely Delights," 12mo. bl. let. 
In the same scene of the Twelfth-Night, 
Sir Toby sings a scrap of an old ballad, 
which is preserved in the Pepys collection, 
[vol. i. pp. 33, 496.] ; but as it is not only a 
poor dull performance, but also very long, it 
will be sufficient here to give the first stanza : 

The Ballad op Constant Susanna. 

There dwelt a man in Babylon 

Of reputation great by fame ; 

He took to wife a faire woman, 

Susanna she was callde by name : 
A woman fair and vertuous ; 

Lady, lady : 
Why should we not of her learn thus 
To live godly ? 

If this song of Corydon, &c, has not more 
merit, it is at least an evil of less magnitude. 

Farewell, dear love ; since thou wilt needs 

be gone, 
Mine eyes do shew, my life is almost done. 
Nay I will never die, so long as I can spie 
There be many mo, though that she doe goe, 
There be nuny mo, I fear not : 5 

Why then let her goe, I care not. 



Farewell, farewell ; since this I find is true 
I will not spend more time in wooing you : 
But I will seek elsewhere, if I may find 

love there : 
Shall I bid her goe ? what and if I doe ? 
Shall I bid her goe and spare not? 11 
no, no, no, I dare not. 

Ten thousand times farewell; — yet stay a 

while : — 
Sweet, kiss me once ; sweet kisses time be- 
guile : 
I have no power to move. How now am I 
in love ? 15 

Wilt thou needs be gone? Go then, all is one. 
Wilt thou needs be gone? Oh, hie thee ! 
Nay stay, and do no more deny me. 

Once more adieu, I see loath to depart 19 
Bids oft adieu to her, that holds my heart. 
But seeing I must lose thy love, which I 

did choose, 
Goe thy way for me, since that may not be, 
Goe thy ways for me. But whither ? 
Goe, oh, but where I may come thither. 

What shall I doe ? my love is now departed. 

She is fair, as she is cruel-hearted. 26 

She would not be intreated, with prayers 

oft repeated, 
If she come no more, shall I die therefore? 
If she come no more, what care I? 
Faith, let her goe, or come, or tarry. 30 



XI. 



dmuttus % |eto of fckt 



In the " Life of Pope Sixtus V., translated 
from the Italian of Greg. Leti, by the Rev. 
Mr. Farneworth, folio," is a remarkable pas- 
sage to the following effect. 

" It was reported in Rome, that Drake had 



taken and plundered St. Domingo in Hispan- 
iola, and carried off an immense booty. This 
account came in a private letter to Paul Sec- 
chi, a very considerable merchant in the city, 
who had large concerns in those parts, which 



GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE. 



125 



he had insured. Upon receiving this news, 
he sent for the insurer Sampson Ceneda, a 
Jew, and acquainted him with it. The Jew, 
whose interest it was to have such a report 
thought false, gave many reasons why it 
could not possibly be true, and at last worked 
himself into such a passion, that he said, I'll 
lay you a pound of flesh it is a lye. Secchi, 
who was of a fiery hot temper, replied, I'll 
lay you a thousand crowns against a pound 
of your flesh that it is true. The Jew ac- 
cepted the wager, and articles were immedi- 
ately executed betwixt them, that, if Secchi 
won, he should himself cut the flesh with a 
sharp knife from whatever part of the Jew's 
body he pleased. The truth of the account 
was soon confirmed ; and the Jew was almost 
distracted, when he was informed, that Secchi 
had solemnly swore he would compel him to 
an exact performance of his contract. A re- 
port of this transaction was brought to the 
Pope, who sent for the parties, and, being in- 
formed of the whole affair, said, "when con- 
tracts are made, it is but just they should be 
fulfilled, as this shall : take a knife, therefore, 
Secchi, and cut a pound of flesh from any 
part you please of the Jew's body. We ad- 
vise you, however, to be very careful ; for, if 
you cut but a scruple more or less than your 
due, you shall certainly be hanged." 

The editor of that book is of opinion, that 
the scene between Shylock and Antonio in 
the "Merchant of Venice" is taken from this 
incident. But Mr. Warton, in his ingenious 
" Observations on the Faerie Queen, vol. i. 
page 128," has referred it to the following 
ballad. Mr. Warton thinks this ballad was 
written before Shakspeare's play, as being 
not so circumstantial, and having more of the 
nakedness of an original. Besides, it differs 
from the play in many circumstances, which 
a mere copyist, such as we may suppose the 
ballad-maker to be, would hardly have given 
himself the trouble to alter. Indeed he ex- 
pressly informs us, that he had his story from 
the Italian writers. See the " Connoisseur," 
vol. i. No 16. 

After all, one would be glad to know what 
authority " Leti" had for the foregoing fact, 
or at least for connecting it with the taking 
of St. Domingo by Drake ; for this expedition 
did not happen till 1585, and it is very cer- 
tain that a play of the " Jewe, representing 
the greedinesse of worldly chusers, and 



bloody minds of usurers," had been exhibit- 
ed at the play-house called the " Bull," before 
the year 1579, being mentioned in Steph. 
Gosson's " Schoole of Abuse,"* which was 
printed in that year. 

As for Shakspeare's " Merchant of Ven- 
ice," the earliest edition known of it is in 
quarto, 1600 ; though it had been exhibited 
in the year 1598, being mentioned, together 
with eleven others of his plays, in Meres's 
"Wits Treasury," &c. 1598, 12mo. fol. 282. 
See Malone's Shaksp. 

The following is printed from an ancient 
black-letter copy in the Pepys collection,! en- 
titled, " A new Song, shewing the crueltie of 
' Gernutus, a Jewe,' who, lending to a mer- 
chant an hundred crowns, would have a 
pound of his fleshe, because he could not pay 
him at the time appointed. To the tune of 
Black and Yellow." 

THE FIRST PART. 

In Venice towne not long agoe 

A cruel Jew did dwell, 
Which lived all on usurie 

As Italian writers tell. 

Gernutus called was the Jew, 5 

Which never thought to dye, 
Nor ever yet did any good 

To them in streets that lie. 

His life was like a barrow hogge, 

That liveth many a day, 10 

Yet never once doth any good, 
Until men will him slay. 

Or like a filthy heap of dung, 

That lyeth in a whoard ; 
Which never can do any good, 15 

Till it be spread abroad. 

So fares it with the usurer, 

He cannot sleep in rest, 
For feare the thiefe will him pursue 

To plucke him from his nest. 20 

His heart doth thinke on many a wile, 

How to deceive the poore ; 
His mouth is almost ful of mucke, 

Yet still he gapes for more. 



* Warton, ubi supra. 

f Compared with the Ashmole Copy. 



126 



GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE. 



His wife must lend a shilling, 25 

For every weeke a penny, 
Yet bring a pledge, that is double worth, 

If that you will have any. 

And see, likewise, you keepe your day, 
Or else you loose it all : 30 

This was the living of the wife, 
Her cow she did it call. 

Within that citie dwelt that time 

A marchant of great fame, 
Which being distressed in his need, 35 

Unto Gernutus came : 

Desiring him to stand his friend 

For twelve month and a day, 
To lend to him an hundred crownes : 

And he for it would pay 40 

Whatsoever he would demand of him, 

And pledges he should have. 
No, (quoth the Jew with Hearing lookes,) 

Sir, aske what you will have. 



45 



No penny for the loane of it 
For one year you shall pay 

You may doe me as good a turne, 
Before my dying day. 



But we will have a merry jeast, 

For to be talked long : 50 

You shall make me a bond, quoth he, 

That shall be large and strong : 



And this shall be the forfeyture ; 

Of your owne fleshe a pound. 
If you agree, make you the bond, 

And here is a hundred crownes. 



M 



With right good will ! the marchant he says : 

And so the bond was made. 
When twelve month and a day drew on 

That backe it should be payd. 60 

The marchants ships were all at sea, 

And money came not in ; 
Which way to take, or what to doe 

To thinke he doth begin : 



V. 32, Cow, &c, seems to have suggested to Shakspeare 
Sbylock's argument for usury taken from Jacob's manage- 
ment of Lahan's sheep, act i.. to which Antonio replies : 
"Was this inserted to make interest good? 

Or are your gold and silver ewes and rams? 
" Shy. I cannot tell. I make it breed as fast." 



And to Gernutus strait he comes 65 

With cap and bended knee, 
And sayde to him, Of curtesie 

I pray you beare with mee. 

My day is come, and I have not 

The money for to pay : 70 

And little good the forfeyture 
Will doe you, I dare say. 

With all my heart, Gernutus sayd, 

Commaund it to your minde : 
In thinges of bigger waight then this 75 

You shall me ready finde. 

He goes his way ; the day once past 

Gernutus doth not slacke 
To get a sergiant presently ; 

And clapt him on the backe : 80 

And layd him into prison strong, 

And sued his bond withall ; 
And when the judgement day was come, 

For judgement he did call. 

The marchants friends came thither fast 
With many a weeping eye, 86 

For other means they could not find. 
But he that day must dye. 

THE SECOND PART. 

" Of the Jews crueltie ; setting foorth the 
mercifulnesse of the Judge towards the Mar- 
chant. To the tune of Blacke and Yellow." 

Some offered for his hundred crownes 

Five hundred for to pay ; 
And some a thousand, two or three, 

Yet still he did denay. 

And at the last ten thousand crownes 5 

They offered, him to save. 
Gernutus sayd, I will no gold: 

My forfeite I will have. 

A pound of fleshe is my demand, 

And that shall be my hire. 10 

Then sayd the judge, Yet, good my friend, 
Let me of you desire 

To take the flesh from such a place, 

As yet you let him live : 
Do so, and lo ! an hundred crownes 15 

To thee here will I give. 



GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE. 



127 



No: no: quoth he ; no: judgement here : 

For this it shall be tride, 
For I will have my pound of fleshe 

From under his right side. 20 

It grieved all the companie 

His crueltie to see, 
For neither friend nor foe could helpe 

But he muft spoyled bee. 

The bloudie Jew now ready is 25 

With whetted blade in hand,* 
To spoyle the bloud of innocent, 

By forfeit of his bond. 

And as he was about to strike 

In him the deadly blow : 30 

Stay (quoth the judge) thy crueltie ; 

I charge thee to do so. 

Sith needs thou wilt thy forfeit have, 

Which is of flesh a pound : 
See that thou shed no drop of bloud, 35 

Nor yet the man confound. 

For if thou doe, like murderer 

Thou here shalt hanged be : 
Likewise of flesh see that thou cut 

No more than longes to thee : 40 

For if thou take either more or lesse 

To the value of a mite, 
Thou shalt be hanged presently, 

As is both law and right. 

Gernutus now waxt franticke mad, 45 

And wotes not what to say ; 
Quoth he at last, Ten thousand crownes 

I will that he shall pay ; 

And so I graunt to set him free. 

The judge doth answere make; 50 

You shall not have a penny given ; 

Your forfeyture now take. 

At the last he doth demaund 

But for to have his owne. 
No, quoth the judge, doe as you list, 55 

Thy judgement shall be showne. 



* The passage in Shakspeare bears so strong a resem- 
blance to this, as to render it probable that the one suggested 
the other. See act iv. sc. 2. 

'' Bass. Wlty dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly t &c." 

17 



Either take your pound of flesh, quoth he, 

Or cancell me your bond. 
cruell judge, then quoth the Jew, 

That doth against me stand ! 60 

And so with griping grieved mind 

He biddeth them fare-well. 
' Then' all the people prays'd the Lord, 

That ever this heard tell. 

Good people, that doe heare this song, 65 

For trueth I dare well say, 
That many a wretch as ill as hee 

Doth live now at this day ; 

That seeketh nothing but the spoyle 

Of many a wealthy man, 70 

And for to trap the innocent 
Deviseth what they can. 

From whome the Lord deliver me, 

And every Christian too, 
And send to them like sentence eke 75 

That meaneth so to do. 

*#* Since the first edition of this book was 
printed, the Editor hath had reason to believe 
that both Shakspeare and the Author of this 
ballad are indebted for their story of the Jew 
(however they came by it) to an Italian 
Novel, which was first printed at Milan in 
the year 1554, in a book entitled, II pecorone, 
nel quale si contengono Cinquanta Nbvelle 
antiche, &c, republished at Florence about 
the year 1748, or 9. — The Author was Ser. 
Giovanni Fiorentino, who wrote in 1378 ; 
thirty years after the time in which the scene 
of Boccace's Decamejon is laid. (Vid. Manni 
Istoria del Decameron di Giov. Boccac. 4to. 
Fior. 1744. 

That Shakspeare had his plot from the 
Novel itself, is evident from his having some 
incidents from it, which are not found in the 
ballad : and I think it will also be found that 
he borrowed from the ballad some hints that 
were not suggested by the novel. (See above, 
pt. 2, ver. 25, &c, where, instead of that spi- 
rited description of the whetted blade, &c, the 
Prose Narrative coldly says, " The Jew had 
prepared a razor," &c. See also some other 
passages in the same piece.) This however is 
spoken with diffidence, as I have at present 
before me only the abridgment of the novel 
which Mr. Johnson has given us at the end 

V. 61, griped, Ashmol. copy. 



128 



THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. 



of his commentary on Shakspeare's play. 
The translation of the Italian story at large 
is not easy to be met with, having I believe 
never been published, though it was printed 
some years ago with this title, " The Novel, 



from which the Merchant of Venice, written 
by Shakspeare, is taken, translated from the 
Italian. To which is added, a translation 
of a novel from tin? Decamerone of Boccacio, 
London, Printed for M. Cooper, 1755, 8vo." 



XII. 



%\t f imiflttivtt SIie#r& ta \h folic 



Tins beautiful sonnet is quoted in the Merry 
Wives of Windsor, act iii. sc. 1, and hath 
been usually ascribed (together with the re- 
ply) to Shakspeare himself by the modern 
editors of his smaller poems. A copy of this 
madrigal, containing only four stanzas (the 
4th and 6th being wanting), accompanied 
with the first stanza of the answer, being 
printed in "The Passionate Pilgrime, and 
Sonnets to sundry Notes of Musicke, by Mr. 
William Shakspeare, Lond. printed for W. 
Jaggard, 1599." Thus was this sonnet, &c, 
published as Shakspeare's in his lifetime. 

And yet there is good reason to believe 
that (not Shakspeare, but) Christopher Mar- 
low wrote the song, and Sir Walter Raleigh 
the " Nymph's Reply :" for so we are posi- 
tively assured by Isaac Walton, a writer of 
some credit, who has inserted them both in 
his Compleat Angler,* under the character 
of " that smooth song, which was made by 
Kit Marlow, now at leas^ fifty years ago ; and 
.... an Answer to it, which was made by 
Sir Walter Raleigh in his younger days. . . . 
Old fashioned poetry, but choicely good."— 
It also passed for Marlow's in the opinion of 
his contemporaries ; for in the old poetical 
miscellany, entitled, "England's Helicon," 
it is printed with the name of Chr. Marlow 
subjoined to it; and the reply is signed Ignoto, 
which is known to have been a signature of 
Sir Walter Raleigh. With the same signa- 
ture Ignoto, in that collection, is an imitation 
of Marlow's beginning thus : 

" Come live with me, and be my dear, 
And we will revel all the year, 
In plains and groves," &c. 

* First printed in the year 1653, but probably written 
some time before. 



Upon the whole I am inclined to attribute 
them to Marlow, and Raleigh ; notwithstand- 
ing the authority of Shakspeare's Book of 
Sonnets. For it is well known that as he 
took no care of his own compositions, so was 
he utterly regardless what spurious things 
were fathered upon him. Sir John Oldcastle, 
the London Prodigal, and the Yorkshire 
Tragedy, were printed with his name at full 
length in the title-pages, while he was living, 
which yet were afterwards rejected by his 
first editors Heminge and Condell, who were 
his intimate friends (as he mentions both in 
his will), and therefore no doubt had good 
authority for setting them aside.* 

The following sonnet appears to have been 
(as it deserved) a great favourite with our 
earlier poets: for, besides the imitation above 
mentioned, another is to be found among 
Donne's Poems, entitled, " The Bait," begin- 
ning thus : 

" Come live with me, and be my love, 
And we will some new pleasures prove 
Of golden sands, &c." 

As for Chr. Marlow, who was in high re- 
pute for his dramatic writings, he lost his 
life by a stab received in a brothel, before the 
year 1593. See A. Wood, i. 138. 

Come live with me, and be my love, 
And we wil all the pleasures prove 
That hils and vallies, dale and field, 
And all the craggy mountains yield. 

* Since the above was written, Mr. Malone, with his usual 
discernment, hath rejected the stanzas in question from the 
other sonnets, &c, of Shakspeare, in his correct edition 
of the Passionate Pilgrim, &c. See his Shaksp. vol. x. 
p. 340. 



There will we sit upon the rocks, 5 

And see the shepherds feed their flocks, 
By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals. 

There will I make thee beds of roses 
With a thousand fragrant posies, 10 

A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 
Imbrodered all with leaves of mirtle ; 

A gown made of the finest wool, 
Which from our pretty lambs we pull ; 
Slippers lin'd choicely for the cold ; 15 
With buckles of the purest gold ; 

A belt of straw, and ivie buds, 
With coral clasps and amber studs : 
And if these pleasures may thee move, 
Then live with me, and be my love. 20 

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing 
For thy delight each May morning ; 
If these delights thy mind may move. 
Then live with me and be my love. 

The Nymph's Reply. 

If that the World and Love were young, 
And truth in every shepherd's toung, 



These pretty pleasures might me move 
To live with thee, and be thy love. 

But time drives flocks from field to fold, 5 
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold, 
And Philomel becometh dumb, 
And all complain of cares to come. 

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields 
To wayward winter reckoning yield : 10 
A honey tongue, a heart of gall, 
Is fancies spring, but sorrows fall. 

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, 
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, 
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, 
In folly ripe, in reason rotten 16 

Thy belt of straw, and ivie buds, 
Thy coral clasps, and amber studs ; 
All these in me no means can move 
To come to thee, and be thy love. 20 

But could youth last, and love still breed, 
Had joyes no date, nor age no need ; 
Then those delights my mind might move 
To live with thee, and be my love. 



XIII. 



%itm ^tihxmtm'z fetplamt. 



The reader has here an ancient ballad on 
the same subject as the play of " Titus Andro- 
nicus," and it is probable that the one was 
borrowed from the other: but which of them 
was the original, it is not easy to decide. 
And yet, if the argument offered above in 
page 125, for the priority of the ballad of the 
Jew of Venice may be admitted, somewhat 
of the same kind may be urged here ; for 
this ballad differs from the play in several 
particulars, which a simple ballad-writer 
would be less likely to alter than an inven- 
tive tragedian. Thus, in the ballad, is no 
mention of the contest for the empire between 
the two brothers, the composing of which 
makes the ungrateful treatment of Titus 



afterwards the more flagrant : neither is there 
any notice taken of his sacrificing one of 
Tamora's sons, which the tragic poet has 
assigned as the original cause of all her 
cruelties. In the play, Titus loses twenty- 
one of his sons in war, and kills another for 
assisting Bassianus to carry off Lavinia; the 
reader will find it different in the ballad. In 
the latter she is betrothed to the emperor's son: 
in the play to his brother. In the tragedy, 
only two of his sons fall into the pit, and the 
third, being banished, returns to Rome with 
a victorious army, to avenge the wrongs of 
his house: in the ballad, all three are en- 
trapped and suffer death. In the scene, the 
emperor kills Titus, and is in return stabbed 



130 



TITUS ANDRONICUS'S COMPLAINT. 



by Titus's surviving son. Here Titus kills 
the emperor, and afterwards himself. 

Let the reader weigh these circumstances, 
and some others, wherein he will find them 
unlike, and then pronounce for himself. — 
After all, there is reason to conclude that 
this play was rather improved by Shakspeare, 
with a few fine touches of his pen, than ori- 
ginally written by him ; for, not to mention 
that the style is less figurative than his others 
generally are, this tragedy is mentioned with 
discredit in the Induction to Ben Jonson's 
" Bartholomew Fair, in 1614," as one that 
had then been exhibited " five-and-twenty or 
thirty years :" which, if we take the lowest 
number, throws it back to the year 1589, at 
which time Shakspeare was but 25 ; an earlier 
date than can be found for any other of his 
pieces :* and if it does not clear him entirely 
of it, shows at least it was a first attempt.f 

The following is given from a copy in " The 
Golden Garland," entitled as above; com- 
pared with three others, two of them in black 
letter in the Pepys collection, entitled " The 
Lamentable and Tragical History of Titus 
Andronicus," &c. " to the Tune of Fortune," 
printed for E. Wright. Unluckily, none of 
these have any dates. 

You noble minds, and famous martiall wights, 
That in defence of native country fights, 
Give eare to me, that ten yeeres fought for 

Rome, 
Yet reapt disgrace at my returning home. 

In Rome I lived in fame fulle threescore 
yeeres, 5 

My name beloved was of all my peeres ; 

Fulle five-and-twenty valiant sonnes I had, 

Whose forwarde vertues made their father 
glad. 

For when Romes foes their warlike forces 

bent, 
Against them stille my sonnes and I were 

sent; 10 

* Mr. Malone thinks 1591 to be the sera when our author 
commenced a vriter for the stage. See in his Shak?p. the 
ingenious " Attempt to ascertain the order in which the 
plays of Shakspeare were written." 

t Since the above was written, Shakspeare's memory 
has been fully vindicated from the charge of writing the 
above play by the best critics. See what has been urged 
by Steevens and Malone in their excellent editions of 
Shakspeare, &c. 



Against the Guths full ten yeares weary warre 
We spent, receiving many a bloudy scarre. 

Just two-and-twenty of my sonnes were slaine 
Before we did returne to Rome againe : 
Of five-and-twenty sonnes, I brought but 
three 15 

Alive, the stately towers of Rome to see. 

When wars were done, I conquest home did 

bring 
And did present my prisoners to the king, 
The queene of Goths, her sons, and eke a 

Moore, 19 

Which did such murders, like was nere before. 

The emperour did make this queene his wife, 
Which bred in Rome debate and deadly strife ; 
The Moore, with her two sonnes did growe 

soe proud, 
That none like them in Rome might be allowd. 

The Moore soe pleas'dthis new-made empress' 
eie, 25 

That she consented to him secretlye 
For to abuse her husbands marriage bed, 
And soe in time a Blackamore she bred. 

Then she, whose thoughts to murder were 
inclinde, 29 

Consented with the Moore of bloody minde 
Against myselfe, my kin, and all my friendes, 
In cruell sort to bring them to their endes. 

Soe when in age I thought to live in peace, 
Both care and griefe began then to increase : 
Amongst my sonnes I had one daughter 

brighte, 35 

Which joy'd, and pleased best my aged 

sight ; 

My deare Lavinia was betrothed than 
To Cesars sonne, a young and noble man : 
Who, in a hunting by the emperours wife, 
And her two sonnes, bereaved was of life. 

He being slaine, was cast in cruel wise, 41 
Into a darksome den from light of skies: 
The cruell Moore did come that way as then 
With my three sonnes, who fell into the den. 

The Moore then fetcht the emperour with 
speed, 45 

For to accuse them of that murderous deed. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS'S COMPLAINT. 



131 



And when my sonnes within the den were 

found, 
In wrongfull prison they were cast and bound. 

But nowe, behold ! what wounded most my 

mind, 
The empresses two sonnes of savage kind 50 
My daughter ravished without remorse, 
And took away her honour, quite perforce. 

When they had tasted of soe sweete a flowre, 
Fearing this sweete should shortly turne to 

sowre, 
They cutt her tongue, whereby she could not 

tell 55 

How that dishonoure unto her befell. 

Then both her hands they basely cutt off 

quite. 
Whereby their wickednesse she could not 

write ; 
Nor with her needle on her sampler sowe 
The bloudye workers of her direfull woe. 60 

My brother Marcus found her in the wood, 
Stainingthegrassie ground with purple bloud, 
That trickled from her stumpes, and bloud- 

lesse armes : 
Noe tongue at all she had to tell her harmes. 

But when I sawe her in that woefull case, 65 
With teares of bloud I wet mine aged face : 
For my Lavinia I lamented more 
Then for my two-and-twenty sonnes before. 

When as I sawe she could not write nor 
speake, 69 

With grief mine aged heart began to breake ; 
We spred an heape of sand upon the ground, 
Whereby those bloudy tyrants out we found. 

For with a staffe, without the helpe of hand, 
She writt these wordes upon the plat of sand : 
" The lustfull sonnes of the proud emperesse 
Are doers of this hateful wickednesse." 76 

I tore the milk-white hairs from off mine head, 
I curst the houre, wherein I first was bred, 
I wisht this hand, that fought for countrie's 

fame, 
In cradle rockt, had first been stroken lame. 

The Moore delighting still in villainy 81 

Did say, to sett my sonnes from prison free 



I should unto the king my right hand give, 
And then my three imprisoned sonnes should 
live. 

The Moore I caus'd to strike it off with speede, 
Whereat I grieved not to see it bleed, 86 
But for my sonnes would willingly impart, 
And for their ransome send my bleeding heart. 

But as my life did linger thus in paine, 89 
They sent to me my bootlesse hand againe, 
And therewithal the heades of my three 

sonnes, 
Which filled my dying heart with fresher 

moanes. 

Then past reliefe, I upp and downe did goe, 
And with my tears writ in the dust my woe: 
I shot my arrowes* towards heaven hie 95 
And for revenge to hell did often crye. 

The empresse then, thinking that I was mad, 
Like Furies she and both her sonnes were 

clad, 
(She nam'd Revenge, and Rape and murder 

they) _ 99 

To undermine and heare what I would say. 

I fed their foolish veinesf a certaine space, 
Untill my friendes did find a secret place, 
Where both her sonnes unto a post were 

bound, 
And just revenge in cruell sort was found. 

I cut their throates, my daughter held the 

pan 105 

Betwixt her stumpes, wherein the bloud it 

ran : 
And then I ground their bones to powder 

small, 
And made a paste for pyes streight there- 

withall. 

Then with their fleshe I made two mighty 
pyes, 109 

And at a banquet served in stately wise. 



* If the ballad was written before the play, I should sup- 
pose this to be only a metaphorical expression, taken from 
that in the Psalms, " They shoot out their arrows, even 
bitter words." Ps. 64, 3. 

■f- i. e. encouraged them u> their foolish humours, or 
fancies. 



K2 



KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS. 



Before the empresse set this loathsome meat ; 
So of her sonnes own flesh she well did eat. 

Myselfe bereav'd my daughter then of life, 
The empresse then I slewe with bloudy knife, 
And stabb'd the emperour immediatelie, 115 
And then myself: even so did Titus die. 



Then this revenge against the Moore was 

found, 
Alive they sett him halfe in the ground, 
Whereas he stood untill such time he starv'd. 
And soe God send all murderers may be 

serv'd. 120 



XIV. 

fake t\m ftps atoag. 



The first stanza of this little sonnet, which 
an eminent critic* justly admires for its ex- 
treme sweetness, is found in Shakspeare's 
" Measure for Measure," act iv. sc. 1. Both 
the stanzas are preserved in Beaumont and 
Fletcher's " Bloody Brother," act v. sc. 2. 
Sewel and Gildon have printed it among 
Shakspeare's smaller poems : but they have 
done the same by twenty other pieces that 
were never writ by him, their book being a 
wretched heap of inaccuracies and mistakes. 
It is not found in Jaggard's old edition of 
Shakspeare's " Passionate Pilgrim, f &c. 



Take, oh take those lips away, 
That so sweetlye were forsworne ; 

And those eyes, the breake of day, 
Lights, that do misleade the morne: 

But my kisses bring againe, 

Seales of love, but seal'd in vaine. 

Hide, oh hide those hills of snowe, 
Which thy frozen bosom beares, 

On whose tops the pinkes that growe 
Are of those that April wears ; 

But first set my poor heart free, 

Bound in those icy chains by thee. 



10 



XV. 



ting Jm anfo Ms ihm Jaujftta 



The reader has here an ancient ballad on 
the subject of King Lear, which (as a sensi- 
ble female critic has well observed) J bears so 
exact an analogy to the argument of Shaks- 
peare's play, that his having copied it could 
not be doubted, if it were certain that it was 
written before the tragedy. Here is found 
the hint of Lear's madness, which the old 
chronicles \ do not mention, as also the ex- 

* Dr. Warburton in his Shakesp. 

f Mr. Malone in his improved edition of Shakspeare's 
Sonnets, &c., hath substituted this instead of Marlow's 
Madrigal, printed above; for which he hath assigned reasons 
which the reader may see in his vol. x. p. 340. 

J Mrs. Lenox. Shakespeare illustrated, vol. iii. p. 302. 

§ See Jeffery of Monmouth, Holingshed, & c, who relate 
Leilas history in many respects the same as the ballad. 



travagant cruelty exercised on him by his 
daughters. In the death of Lear they like- 
wise very exactly coincide. — The misfortune 
is, that there is nothing to assist us in ascer- 
taining the date of the ballad but what little 
evidence arises from within ; this the reader 
must weigh, and judge for himself. 

It may be proper to observe, that Shaks- 
peare was not the first of our Dramatic Poets 
who fitted the story of Leir to the stage. His 
first 4to edition is dated 1608 ; but three years 
before that had been printed a play entitled 
" The true Chronicle History of Leir and his 
three daughters Gonorill, Rajjan, and Cordel- 
ia, as it hath been divers and sundry times 
lately acted, 1605, 4to." — This is a very poor 



KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS. 



133 



and dull performance, but happily excited 
Shakspeare to undertake the subject which 
ho has given with very different incidents. 
It is remarkable, that neither the circum- 
stances of Leir's madness, nor his retinue of 
a select number of knights, nor the affecting 
deaths of Cordelia and Leir, are found in that 
first dramatic piece ; in all which Shakspeare 
concurs with this ballad. 

But to form a true judgment of Shakspeare's 
merit, the curious reader should cast his eye 
over that previous sketch, which he will find 
printed at the end of the twenty plays of 
Shakspeare, republished from the quarto im- 
pressions by George Steevens, Esq., with such 
elegance and exactness as led us to expect 
that fine edition of all the works of our great 
Dramatic Poet, which he hath since pub- 
lished. 

The following ballad is given from an an- 
cient copy in the " Golden Garland," bl. let. 
entitled, " A lamentable Song of the Death 
of King Lear and his Three Daughters. To 
the tune of When flying Fame.'' 

King Leir once ruled in this land 

With princely power and peace ; 
And had all things with hearts content, 

That might his joys increase. 
Amongst those things that nature gave, 5 

Three daughters fair had he, 
So princely seeming beautiful, 

As fairer could not be. 

So on a time it pleas'd the king 

A question thus to move, 10 

Which of his daughters to his grace 

Could shew the dearest love : 
For to my age you bring content, 

Quoth he, then let me hear, 
Which of you three in plighted troth 15 

The kindest will appear. 

To whom the eldest thus began ; 

Dear father, mind, quoth she, 
Before your face, to do you good, 

My blood shall render'd be : 20 

And for your sake my bleeding heart 

Shall here be cut in twain, 
Ere that I see your reverend age 

The smallest grief sustain. 



The worst of all extremities 

I'll gently undertake : 
And serve your highness night and day 

With diligence and love ; 30 

That sweet content and quietness 

Discomforts may remove. 

In doing so, you glad my soul, 

The aged king reply'd ; 
But what sayst thou, my youngest girl, 

How is thy love ally'd ? 36 

My love (quoth young Cordelia then) 

Which to your grace I owe, 
Shall be the duty of a child, 

And that is all I'll show. 40 

And wilt thou shew no more, quoth he, 

Than doth thy duty bind ? 
I well perceive thy love is small, 

When as no more I find. 
Henceforth I banish thee my court, 45 

Thou art no child of mine ; 
Nor any part of this thy realm 

By favour shall be thine. 



Thy elder sisters loves are more 

Than well I can demand, 
To whom I equally bestow 

My kingdome and my land, 
My pompal state and all my goods, 

That lovingly I may 
With those thy sisters be maintain'd 

Until my dying day. 



50 



55 



And so will I, the second said ; 
Dear father, for your sake, 



25 



Thus flattering speeches won renown, 

By these two sisters here ; 
The third has causeless banishment, 

Yet was her love more dear : 60 

For poor Cordelia patiently 

Went wandring up and down, 
Unhelp'd, unpity'd, gentle maid, 

Through many an English town : 

Untill at last in famous France 65 

She gentler fortunes found ; 
Though poor and bare, yet she was deem'd 

The fairest on the ground: 
Where when the king her virtues heard, 

And this fair lady seen, 70 

With full consent of all his court 

He made his wife and queen. 

Her father King Leir this while 
With his two daughters staid : 



134 



KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS. 



Forgetful of their promis'd loves, 75 

Full soon the same decay'd ; 
And living in Queen Ragan's court, 

The eldest of the twain, 
She took from him his chiefest means, 

And most of all his train. 80 

For whereas twenty men were wont 

To wait with bended knee : 
She gave allowance but to ten, 

And after scarce to three ; 
Nay, one she thought too much for him ; 

So took she all away, 86 

In hope that in her court, good king, 

He would no longer stay. 



Am I rewarded thus, quoth he, 

In giving all I have 
Unto my children, and to beg 

For what I lately gave ? 
I'll go unto my Gonorell : 

My second child, I know, 
Will be more kind and pitiful, 

And will relieve my woe. 



90 



95 



Full fast he hies then to her court ; 

Where when she heard his moan 
Return'd him answer, That she griev'd, 

That all his means were gone : 100 

But no way could relieve his wants ; 

Yet if that he would stay 
Within her kitchen, he should have 

What scullions gave away. 

When he had heard, with bitter tears, 105 

He made his answer then ; 
In what I did let me be made 

Example to all men. 
I will return again, quoth he, 

Unto my Ragan's court ; 110 

She will not use me thus, I hope, 

But in a kinder sort. 

Where when he came, she gave command 

To drive him thence away : 
When he was well within her court 115 

(She said) he would not stay. 
Then back again to Gonorell 

The woeful king did hie, , 
That in her kitchen he might have 

What scullion boys set by. 120 

But there of that he was deny'd 
Which she had promis'd late : 

For once refusing, he should not 
Come after to her crate. 



Thus twixt his daughters for relief 125 

He wandred up and down ; 
Being glad to feed on beggars food, 

That lately wore a crown. 

And calling to remembrance then 

His youngest daughters words, 130 

That said the duty of a child 

Was all that love affords : 
But doubting to repair to her, 

Whom he had banish'd so, 
Grew frantick mad ; for in his mind 135 

He bore the wounds of woe : 

Which made him rend his milk-white locks 

And tresses from his head, 
And all with blood bestain his cheeks, 

With age and honour spread. 140 

To hills and woods and watry founts 

He made his hourly moan, 
To hills and woods and senseless things, 

Did seem to sigh and groan. 

Even thus possest with discontents, 145 

He passed o're to France, 
In hopes from fair Cordelia there, 

To find some gentler chance ; 
Most virtuous dame ! which when she heard 

Of this her father's grief, 150 

As duty bound, she quickly sent 

Him comfort and relief: 

And by a train of noble peers, 

In brave and gallant sort, 
She gave in charge he should be brought 

To Aganippus' court ; 156 

Whose royal king, with noble mind 

So freely gave consent, 
To muster up his knights at arms, 

To fame and courage bent. 160 

And so to England came with speed, 

To repossesse King Leir, 
And drive his daughters from their thrones 

By his Cordelia dear. 
Where she, true-hearted noble queen, 165 

Was in the battel slain ; 
Yet he good king, in his old days, 

Possest his crown again. 

But when he heard Cordelia's death, 
Who died indeed for love 170 

Of her dear father, in whose cause 
She did this battle move ; 



FROLICKSOME DUKE, OR THE TINKER'S GOOD FORTUNE. 



135 



He swooning fell upon her breast, 
From whence he never parted : 

But on her bosom left his life, 
That was so truly hearted. 

The lords and nobles when they saw 
The end of these events, 



175 



The other sisters unto death 

They doomed by consents ; 180 

And being dead, their crowns they left 

Unto the next of kin : 
Thus have you seen the fall of pride, 

And disobedient sin. 



XVI. 



f flwtft anfo $p. 



is found in a little collection of Shak- 

speare's Sonnets, entitled the " Passionate 
Pilgrime,"* the greatest part of which seems 
to relate to the amours of Venus and Adonis, 
being little effusions of fancy, probably writ- 
ten while he was composing his larger Poem 
on that subject. The following seems in- 
tended for the mouth of Venus, weighing 
the comparative merits of youthful Adonis 
and aged Vulcan. In the " Garland of Good 
Will" it is reprinted, with the addition of 
four more such stanzas, but evidently written 
by a meaner pen. 

Crabbed Age and Youth 

Cannot live together ; 
Youth is full of pleasance, 

Age is full of care ; 



Youth like summer morn, 5 

Age like winter weather, 
Youth like summer brave, 

Age like winter bare : 
Youth is full of sport, 
Ages breath is short ; 10 

Youth is nimble, Age is lame : 
Youth is hot and bold, 
Age is weak and cold ; 

Youth is wild, and Age is tame. 
Age, I do abhor thee, 
Youth, I do adore thee ; 15 

0, my love, my love is young : 
Age, I do dene thee ; 
Oh, sweet shepheard, hie thee, 

For methinks thou stayst too long. 20 

*** See Malone's Shaksp. vol. x., p. 325. 



XVII. 



%\t $tttM$um gttfce, ar % f rotor's (toft farta. 



The following ballad is upon the same sub- 
ject as the Introduction to Shakspeare's 
Taming of the Shrew: whether it may be 
thought to have suggested the hint to the 
Dramatic poet, or is not rather of later date, 
the reader must determine. 

The story is toldf of Philip the Good, Duke 
of Burgundy ; and is thus related by an old 



* Mentioned above, song xi. b. ii. 

t By Ludov. Vives in Epis. and by Pont. Heuter. Rerum 
Burgund. 1. 4. 

18 



English writer : " The said duke, at the mar- 
riage of Eleonora, sister to the king of Portu- 
gall, at Bruges in Flanders, which was sol- 
emnised in the deepe of winter ; when as by 
reason of unseasonable weather he could nei- 
ther hawke nor hunt, and was now tired with 
cards, dice, &c, and such other domestick 
sports, or to see ladies dance ; with some of 
his courtiers, he would in the evening walke 
disguised all about the towne. It so fortuned, 
as he was walking late one night, he found a 
countrey fellow dead drunke, snorting on a 



130 



FROLICKSOME DUKE; OR, 



bulkc ; he caused his followers to bring him 
to his palace, and there stripping him of his 
old clothes, and attyring him after the court 
fashion, when he wakened he and they were 
all ready to attend upon his excellency, and 
persuade him that he was some great duke. 
The poor fellow admiring how he came there, 
was served in state all day long: after supper 
he saw them dance, heard musicke, and all 
the rest of those court-like pleasures : but late 
at night, when he was well tipled, and again 
fast asleepe, they put on his old robes, and 
so conveyed him to the place where they first 
found him. Now the fellow had not made 
them so good sport the day before, as he did 
now, when he returned to himself: all the 
jest was to see how he looked upon it. In 
conclusion, after some little admiration, the 
poore man told his friends he had seen a 
vision: constantly believed it; would not 
otherwise be persuaded, and so the jest 
ended." Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, 
pt. ii. sec. 2, memb. 4, 2d ed. 1624, fol. 

This ballad is given from a black-letter 
copy in the Pepys collection, which is enti- 
tled as above " To the tune of Fond boy." 

Now as fame does report a young duke keeps 

a court. 
One that pleases his fancy with frolicksome 

sport : 
But amongst all the rest, here is one I protest, 
Which will make you to smile when you hear 

the true jest: 
A poor tinker he found, lying drunk on the 

ground, 5 

As secure in sleep as if laid in a swound. 

The duke said to his men, William, Richard 
and Ben, 

Take him home to my palace, we'll sport 
with him then. 

O'er a horse he was laid, and with care soon 
convey'd 

To the palace, altho' he was poorly arrai'd : 

Then they stript off his cloaths, both his 
shirt, shoes and hose, 11 

Aud they put him to bed for to 'take his re- 
pose. 

Having pull'd off his shirt, which was all 

over durt, 
They did give him clean holland, this was no 

great hurt : 



On a bed of soft down, like a lord of renown, 
They did lay him to sleep the drink out of 

his crown. 16 

In the morning when day, then admiring he 

lay, 
For to see the rich chamber, both gaudy and 

gay. 

Now he lay something late, in his rich bed 

of state, 
Till at last knights and squires they on him 

did wait ; 20 

And the chamberlain bare, then did likewise 

declare, 
He desired to know what apparel he'd ware : 
The poor tinker amaz'd, on the gentleman 

gaz'd, 
And admired how he to this honour was rais'd. 

Tho' he seem'd something mute, yet he chose 

a rich suit, 25 

Which he straitways put on without longer 

dispute : 
With a star on his side, which the tinker offt 

ey'd, 
And it seem'd for to swell him 'no' little 

with pride ; 
For he said to himself, Where is Joan my 

sweet wife ? 29 

Sure she never did see me so fine in her life. 

From a convenient place, the right duke his 

good grace 
Did observe his behaviour in every case. 
To a garden of state, on the tinker they 

wait, 
Trumpets sounding before him : thought he, 

this is great : 34 

Where an hour or two, pleasant walks he did 

view, 
With commanders and squires in scarlet and 

blew. 

A fine dinner was drest, both for him and his 

guests, 
He was plac'd at the table above all the rest, 
In a rich chair ' or bed,' lin'd with fine crim- 
son red, 
With a rich golden canopy over his head : 40 
As he sat at his meat, the musick play'd 

sweet, 
With the choicest of singing his joys to com- 
pleat. 



THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. 



i; 



While the tinker did dine, he had plenty of 

wine, 
Rich canary with sherry and tent superfine. 
Like a right honest soul, faith, he took off 

his howl, 45 

Till at last he hegan for to tumble and roul 
From his chair to the floor, where he sleeping 

did snore, 
Being seven times drunker than ever before. 

Then the duke did ordain, they should strip 

him amain, 
And restore him his old leather garments 

again : 50 

'Twas a point next the worst, yet perform it 

they must, 
And they carry'd him strait, where they 

found him at first ; 
Then he slept all the night, as indeed well he 

might ; 
But when he did waken, his joys took their 

flight. 

For his glory ' to him' so pleasant did seem, 
That he thought it to be but a ineer golden 

dream ; 56 

Till at length he was brought to the duke, 

where he sought 
For a pardon, as fearing he had set him at 

nought; 



But his highness he said, Thou'rt a jolly bold 
blade, 59 

Such a frolick before I think never was 
plaid. 

Then his highness bespoke him a new suit 

and cloak, 
Which he gave for the sake of this frolick- 

some joak ; 
Nay, and five-hundred pound, with ten acres 

of ground, 
Thou shalt never, said he, range the coun- 

teries round, 
Crying old brass to mend, for I'll be thy good 

friend, 65 

Nay, and Joan thy sweet wife shall my 

duchess attend. 

Then the tinker reply'd, What ! must Joan 

my sweet bride 
Be a lady in chariots of pleasure to ride ? 
Must we have gold and land ev'ry day at 

command ? 
Then I shall be a squire I well understand : 
Well I thank your good grace, and your love 

I embrace, 71 

I was never before in so happy a case. 



XVIII. 



%\t Jrfar at drto irag. 



Dispersed through Shakspeare's plays are 
innumerable little fragments of ancient bal- 
lads, the entire copies of which could not be 
recovered. Many of these being of the most 
beautiful and pathetic simplicity, the Editor 
was tempted to select some of them, and with 
a few supplemental stanzas to connect them 
together, and form them into a little Tale, 
which is here submitted to the reader's can- 
dour. 

One small fragment was taken from Beau- 
mont and Fletcher. 

It was a friar of orders gray 
Walkt forth to tell his beades ; 
18 



And he met with a lady faire 
Clad in a pilgrime's weedes. 

Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar, 5 

I pray thee tell to me, 
If ever at yon holy shrine 

My true love thou didst see. 

And how should I know your true love 
From many another one ? 10 

0, by his cockle hat, and staff, 
And by his sandal shoone.* 

* These are the distinguishing murks of a Pilgrim. The 

chief places of devotion being beyond sea, the pilgrims 
were wont to put cockle-shells in their huts to denote the 
intention of performance of their devotion. Warb. Shakesp. 
vol. viii. p. 224. 



138 



THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. 



But chiefly by his face and mien, 

That wore so fair to view ; 
His flaxen looks that sweetly eurl'd, 
And syne oi' lovely blue. 

lady, he is dead and gone ! 

Lady, he's dead and gone I 
And at his head a green grass turt'e. 

And at his heels a stone. 

Within these holy oloystera long 

lie languisht and he dyed, 
Lamenting of a ladyes love, 

And 'playning of her pride. 

Here bore him barefae'd on his bier 

Six proper youths and tall. 
And many a tear bedew'd his grave 

Within yon kirk-yard wall. 

And art thou dead, thou gentle youth ! 

And art thou dead and gone ! 
And didst thou dye for love of me ! 

Break, cruel heart of stone ! 

weep not, lady, weep not soe : 
Some ghostly comfort seek : 

Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart, 
Ne teares bedew thy cheek. 

do not, do not. holy friar, 

My sorrows now reprove : 
For I have lost the sweetest youth, 

That e'er wan ladyes love. 

And nowe, alas ! for thy sad losse. 

I'll evermore weep and sigh : 
For thee I only wisht to live, 

For thee I wish to dye. 

Weep no more, lady, weep no more, 

Thy sorrowe is in vaine : 
For violets pluekt the sweetest showers 

Will ne'er make grow againe. 

Our joys as winged dreams doe rive. 
Why then should sorrow last ? 

Since grief but aggravates thv I 
Grieve not for what is past. 

say not soe, thou holy friar : 

I pray thee, say not soe : 
For since my true-love dyed for mee. 

"lis moot my tears should flow. 



And will he ne'er eome again? 
Will he ne'er eome again? 
IS Ah ! n. >. he is dead and laid in his grave, 

For ever to remain. 60 

His cheek was redder than the rose; 

The comliest youth was he ! 
But he is dead and laid in his grave : 
20 -Mas, and woe is me ! 

Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more. 65 

Men were deceivers ever : 
One foot on sea and one on land, 

To one thing constant never. 

25 Hadst thou been {\n\.\, he had been false, 

And left thee sad and heavy ; 70 

For young men ever were fickle found, 
Since summer trees were leafy. 



30 



40 



45 



bO 



55 



Now sae not soe. thou holy friar, 

I pray thee say not soe ; 
My love he had the truest heart : 75 

O he was ever true ! 

And art thou dead, thou mueh-lov'd youth, 

And didst thou dye for mee? 
Then farewell home : for ever-more 

A pilgrim I will bee. 80 

But first upon my true-loves grave 

My weary limbs I'll lay. 
And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf, 

That wraps his breathless elay. 

Yet stay, fair lady : rest awhile 85 

Beneath this oloyster wall: 
See through the hawthorn blows the cold 
wind. 

And drizzly rain doth fall. 

O stay me not, thou holy friar : 

O stay me not. I pray ; 90 

Xo drizzly rain that falls on me, 

Can wash my fault away. 

Yet stay, fair lady, turn again. 

And dry those pearly tears : 
For see beneath this gown of gray 95 

Thy owne true-love appears. 

Here fore'd by grief, and hopeless love, 

These holy weeds I sought : 
And here amid these lonely walls 

To end my days I thought. 100 



THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CIIASE. 



139 



But haply for my year of grace* 

Is not yet past away, 
Might I still hope to win thy love, 

No longer would I stay. 



105 



Now farewell grief, and welcome joy 

Once more unto my heart ; 
For since I have found thee, lovely youth, 

We never more will part. 



*** As the foregoing song has been thought 
* The year of probation, or novitiate. 



to have suggested to our late excellent poet 
Dr. Goldsmith, the plan of his beautiful bal- 
lad of "Edwin and Emma," (first printed in 
his "Vicar of Wakefield,") it is but justice 
to his memory to declare, that his poem was 
written first, and that if there is any imitation 
in the caso, they will be found both to be in- 
debted to the beautiful old ballad "Gentle 
Herdsman," &c, printed in this work, which 
the doctor had much admired in manuscript, 
and has finely improved. See Series the 
Second, book i. song xiv. ver. 37, &c. 



THE END OF THE SECOND BOOK. 



SERIES THE FIRST. 
BOOK III. 



% \t man gfotorn §aM ai Chim-Chse. 



At the beginning of this volume we gave 
the old original Song of " Chevy-Chase." 
The reader has here the more improved edi- 
tion of that fine heroic ballad. It will afford 
an agreeable entertainment to the curious to 
compare them together, and to see how far 
the latter bard has excelled his predecessor, 
and where he has fallen short of him. For 
though he has everywhere improved the ver- 
sification, and generally the sentiment and 
diction ; yet some few passages retain more 
dignity in the ancient copy ; at least the ob- 
soleteness of the style serves as a veil to hide 
whatever might appear too familiar or vulgar 
in them. Thus, for instance, the catastrophe 
of the gallant Witherington is in the modern 
copy expressed in terms which never fail at 
present to excite ridicule: whereas in the 
original it is related with a plain and pathetic 
simplicity, that is liable to no such unlucky 
effect: See the stanza in page 4, which, in 
modern orthography, &c, would run thus : 

" For Witherington my heart is woe, 
That ever he slain should be : 



For when his legs were hewn in two 
He knelt and fought on his knee." 

So again the stanza which describes the 
fall of Montgomery is somewhat more ele- 
vated in the ancient copy : 

" The dint it was both sad and sore, 
He on Montgomery set: 
The swan-feathers his arrow bore 
With his heart's blood were wet." 

We might also add, that the circumstances 
of the battle are more clearly conceived, and 
the several incidents more distinctly marked 
in the old original, than in the improved 
copy. It is well known that the ancient 
English weapon was the long-bow, and that 
this nation excelled all others in archery; 
while the Scottish warriors chiefly depended 
on the use of the spear: this characteristic 
difference never escapes our ancient bard, 
whose description of the first onset (p. 53) 
is to the following effect : 

" The proposal of the two gallant earls to 



140 



THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CIIEVY-CIIASE. 



determine the dispute by single combat being 
overruled ; the English, says he, who stood 
■with their bows ready bent, gave a general 
discharge of their arrows, which slew seven 
score spearmen of the enemy : but, notwith- 
standing so severe a loss, Douglas like a brave 
captain kept his ground. He had divided 
his forces into three columns, who, as soon as 
the English had discharged the first volley, 
bore down upon them with their spears, and 
breaking through their ranks reduced them 
to rinse fighting. The archers upon this 
dropped their bows, and had recourse to 
their swords, and there followed so sharp 
a conflict, that multitudes on both sides lost 
their lives." In the midst of this general 
engagement, at length the two great earls 
meet, and after a spirited rencounter agree to 
breathe; upon which a parley ensues, that 
would do honour to Homer himself. 

Nothing can be more pleasingly distinct 
and circumstantial than this: whereas, the 
modern copy, though in general it has great 
merit, is here unluckily both confused and 
obscure. Indeed the original words seem 
here to have been totally misunderstood, 
" Yet bydys the yerl Douglas upon the Bent," 
evidently signifies, " Yet the earl Douglas 
abides in the Field:" Whereas the more 
modern bard seems to have understood by 
Bent, the inclination of his mind, and accor- 
dingly runs quite off from the subject.* 

" To drive the deer with hound and horn 
Earl Douglas had the bent," v. 109. 

One may also observe a generous impar- 
tiality in the old original bard, when in the 
conclusion of his tale he represents both na- 
tions as quitting the field, without any re- 
proachful reflection on either: though he gives 
to his own countrymen the credit of being 
the smaller number. 

" Of fifteen hundred archers of England 
Went away but fifty and three ; 
Of twenty hundred spearmen of Scotland, 
But even five and fifty." 

He attributes flight to neither party, as hath 
been done in the modern copies of this bal- 

* In the present edition, instead of the unmeaning lines 
here censured, an insertion is made of four stanzas modern- 
ized from the ancient copy. 



lad, as well Scotch as English. For, to be 
even with our latter bard, who makes the 
Scots to flee, some reviser of North Britain 
has turned his own arms against him, and 
printed an edition at Glasgow, in which the 
lines are thus transposed : 

" Of fifteen hundred Scottish spiers 
Went hame but fifty-three : 
Of twenty hundred Englishmen 
Scarce fifty-five did flee." 

And to countenance this change he has sup- 
pressed the two stanzas between ver. 240 and 
ver. 249. — From that edition I have here re- 
formed the Scottish names, which in the 
modern English ballad appeared to be cor- 
rupted. 

When I call the present admired ballad 
modern, I only mean that it is comparatively 
so ; for that it could not be writ much later 
than the time of Queen Elizabeth, I think 
may be made appear ; nor yet does it seem 
to be older than the beginning of the last 
century.* Sir Philip Sidney, when he com- 
plains of the antiquated phrase of " Chevy. 
Chase," could never have seen this improved 
copy, the language of which is not more an- 
cient than that he himself used. It is proba- 
ble that the encomiums of so admired a wri- 
ter excited some bard to revise the ballad, 
and to free it from those faults he had object- 
ed to it. That it could not be much later 
than that time, appears from the phrase 
" Doleful Dumps ;" which in that age carried 
no ill sound with it, but to the next genera- 
tion became ridiculous. We have seen it pass 
uncensured in a sonnet that was at that time 
in request, and where it could not fail to have 
been taken notice of, had it been in the least 
exceptionable: see above, b. ii. song vi. ver. 



* A late writer has started a notion that the more modern 
copy " was written to he sung hy a party of English, headed 
hy a Douglas, in the year 1524; which is the true reason 
why, at the same time that it gives the advantage to the 
English soldiers ahove the Scotch, it gives yet so lovely 
and so manifestly superior a character to the Scotch <oin- 
1 mander above the English." See Say's Essay on the Num- 
bers of Paradise Lost, 4to., 1745. p. 167. 

This appears to me a groundless conjecture; the lan- 
guage seems too modern for the date above mentioned; 
and, had it been printed even so early as Queen Elizabeth's 
reign, I think 1 should have met with some copy wherein 
the first line would have been, 

God prosper long our noble queen, 
as was the case with the Blind Beggar of Bedncd Green ; 
see Series the Second, No. x. ver. 23. 



THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE. 



141 



2: Yet, in about half a century after, it 
was become burlesque. Vide Hudibras, pt. 
i. c. 3, v. 95. 

This much premised, the reader that would 
see the general beauties of this ballad set in 
a just and striking light, may consult the ex- 
cellent criticism of Mr. Addison.* With re- 
gard to its subject: it has already been con- 
sidered in page 51. The conjectures there 
offered will receive confirmation from a pas- 
sage in the Memoirs of Carey Earl of Mon- 
mouth, 8vo., 1759, p. 165 ; whence we learn 
that it was an ancient custom with the bor- 
derers of the two kingdoms, when they were 
at peace, to send to the Lord Wardens of the 
opposite Marches for leave to hunt within 
their districts. If leave was granted, then 
towards the end of summer they would come 
and hunt for several days together "with 
their Greyhounds for Deer:" but if they took 
this liberty unpermitted, then the Lord War- 
den of the border so invaded, would not fail 
to interrupt their sport and chastise their 
boldness. He mentions a remarkable in- 
stance that happened while he was Warden, 
when some Scotch Gentlemen coming to hunt 
in defiance of him, there must have ensued 
such an action as this of Chevy-Chase, if the 
intruders had been proportionably numerous 
and well-armed : for, upon their being attack- 
ed by his men at arms, he tells us, " some 
hurt was done, tho' he had given especiall 
order that they should shed as little blood as 
possible." They were in effect overpowered 
and taken prisoners, and only released on 
their promise to abstain from such licentious 
sporting for the future. 

The following text is given from a copy in 
the Editor's folio MS. compared with two or 
three others printed in black-letter. — In the 
second volume of Dryden's Miscellanies may 
be found a translation of Chevy-Chase into 
Latin Rhymes. The translator, Mr. Henry 
Bold, of New College, undertook it at the 
command of Dr. Compton, bishop of London ; 
who thought it no derogation to his episcopal 
character, to avow a fondness for this excel- 
lent old ballad. See the preface to Bold's 
Latin Songs, 1685, 8vo. 

God prosper long our noble king, 
Our lives and safetyes all ; 

* In the Spectator, No. 70, 74. 



A woefull hunting once there did 
In Chevy-Chace befall ; 

To drive the deere with hound and home, 5 

Erie Percy took his way, 
The child may rue that is unborne, 

The hunting of that day. 

The stout Erie of Northumberland 

A vow to God did make, 10 

His pleasure in the Scottish woods 
Three summers days to take ; 

The cheefest harts in Chevy-Chace 

To kill and beare away. 
These tydings to Erie Douglas came, 15 

In Scottland where he lay : 

Who sent Erie Peroy present word, 

He would prevent his sport. 
The English Erie, not fearing that, 

Did to the woods resort, 20 

With fifteen hundred bow-men bold ; 

All chosen men of might, 
Who knew full well in time of neede 

To ayme their shafts aright. 

The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran, 25 

To chase the fallow deere : 
On Munday they began to hunt, 

Ere day-light did appeare ; 

And long before high noone they had 

An hundred fat buckes slaine ; 30 

Then having dined, the drovyers went 
To rouze the deare againe. 

The bow-men mustered on the hills, 

Well able to endure ; 
Theire backsides all, with speciall care, 35 

That day were guarded sure. 

The hounds ran swiftly through the woods, 
The nimble deere to take,* 

Ver. 36, That they were, fol. MS. 
* The Chiviot Hills and circumjacent Wastes are at pre- 
sent void of Deer, and almost stripped of their woods; but 
formerly they had enough of both to justify the description 
attempted here and in the Ancient Ballad of Chevy-Chase. 
Leyland, in the reign of Hen. VIII., thus describes this 
county : " In Northumberland, as I heare say, be no forests, 
except Chivet Hills; where is much Brushe-Wood, and 
some Okke; Grownde ovargrowne with Linge, and some 
with Morse. I have harde say that Chivet Hills stretchethe 



142 



THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CIIASE. 



That with their cryes the hills and dales 
An eccho shrill did make. 40 

Lord Percy to the quarry went, 

To view the slaughter'd deere ; 
Quoth he, Erie Douglas promised 

This day to meet me heere : 

But if I thought he wold not come, 45 

Noe longer wold I stay. 
With that, a brave younge gentleman 

Thus to the Erie did say : 

Loe, yonder doth Erie Douglas come, 

His men in armour bright ; 50 

Full twenty hundred Scottish speres 
All marching in our sight ; 

All men of pleasant Tivydale, 
Fast by the river Tweede : 

cease your sports, Erie Percy said, 55 
And take your bowes with speede. 

And now with me, my countrymen, 

Your courage forth advance ; 
For there was never champion yett 

In Scotland or in France, 60 

That ever did on horsebacke come, 
But if my hap it were, 

1 durst encounter man for man, 
With him to break a spere. 

Erie Douglas on his milke-white steede, 65 

Most like a baron bold, 
Rode formost of his company, 

Whose armour shone like gold. 

Show me, sayd hee, whose men you bee, 
That hunt soe boldly heere, 70 

That, without my consent, doe chase 
And kill my fallow-deere. 

The first man that did answer make 

Was noble Percy hee ; 
Who sayd, Wee list not to declare, 75 

Nor shew whose men wee bee. 

Yet wee will spend our deerest blood, 
Thy cheefest harts to slay. 

xx miles. There is greate Plent.6 of Redde-Dere, and Roo 

Bukkes." Itin. vol. vil. p. 56. This passage, which 

did not occur when pages 74, 75, were printed off, confirm the 
accounts there given of the Staooe and the Rok. 



Then Douglas swore a solempne oathe 
And thus in rage did say, 80 

Ere thus I will out-braved bee, 

One of us two shall dye : 
I know thee well, an erle thou art ; 

Lord Percy, soe am I. 

But trust me, Percy, pittye it were 85 

And great offence to kill 
Any of these our guiltlesse men, 

For they have done no ill. 

Let thou and I the battell trye, 

And set our men aside. 90 

Accurst bee he, Erie Percy sayd, 

By whom this is denyed. 

Then stept a gallant squier forth, 

Witherington was his name, 
Who said, I wold not have it told 95 

To Henry our king for shame, 

That ere my captaine fought on foote 

And I stood looking on. 
You bee two erles, sayd Witherinton 

And I a squier alone : 100 

He doe the best that doe I may, 

While I have power to stand : 
While I have power to weeld my sword, 

He fight with hart and hand. 

Our English archers bent their bowes, 105 
Their harts were good and trew ; 

Att the first flight of arrowes sent, 
Full four-score Scots they slew. 

* [Yet bides Earl Douglas on the bent, 
As Chieftan stout and good. 110 

As valiant Captain, all unmov'd 
The shock he firmly stood. 

His host he parted had in three, 

As Leader ware and try'd, 
And soon his spearmen on their foes 115 

Bare down on every side. 

* The four stanzas here enclosed in brack- 
ets, which are borrowed chiefly fram the an- 
cient copy, are offered to the reader instead of 
the following lines, which occur in the editor's 
folio MS. 



«& 



THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE. 



143 



To drive the deere with hound and home, 

Douglas bade on the bent ; 
Two captaines moved with mickle might 

Their speares to shivers went. 

Throughout the English archery 

They dealt full many a wound : 
But still our valiant Englishmen 

All firmly kept their ground : 120 

And throwing strait their bows away, 
They grasp'd their swords so bright : 

And now sharp blows, a heavy shower, 
On shields and helmets light.] 

They closed full fast on everye side, 125 

Noe slacknes there was found ; 
And many a gallant gentleman 

Lay gasping on the ground. 

Christ ! it was a griefe to see, 

And likewise for to heare, 130 

The cries of men lying in their gore, 
And scattered here and there. 

At last these two stout erles did meet, 

Like captaines of great might: 
Like lyons wood, they layd on lode, 135 

And made a cruell fight : 

They fought untill they both did sweat, 
With swords of tempered Steele ; 

Until the blood, like drops of rain, 

They trickling downe did feele. 140 

Yeeld thee, Lord Percy, Douglas sayd ; 

In faith I will thee bringe, 
Where thou shalt high advanced bee 

By James our Scottish king : 

Thy ransome I will freely give, 145 

And this report of thee, 
Thou art the most courageous knight 

That ever I did see. 

Noe, Douglas, quoth Erie Percy then, 

Thy proffer I doe scorne ; 150 

1 will not yeelde to any Scott, 
That ever yett was borne. 

With that, there came an arrow keene 

Out of an English bow, 
Which struck Erie Douglas to the heart, 155 

A deepe and deadlye blow : 
19 



Who never spake more words than these, 

Fight on, my merry men all ; 
For why, my life is at an end ; 

Lord Percy sees my fall. 160 

Then leaving liffe, Erie Percy tooke 

The dead man by the hand ; 
And said, Erie Douglas, for thy life 

Wold I had lost my land. 



165 



O Christ ! my verry hert doth bleed 
With sorrow for thy sake ; 

For sure, a more redoubted knight 
Mischance cold never take. 



A knight amongst the Scotts there was, 
Which saw Erie Douglas dye, 170 

Who streight in wrath did vow revenge 
Upon the Lord Percye : 

Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he call'd, 
Who, with a speare most bright, 

Well-mounted on a gallant steed, 175 

Ran fiercely through the fight ; 



And past the English archers all, 
Without all dread or feare ; 

And through Erie Percyes body then 
He thrust his hatefull speare ; 



180 



With such a vehement force and might 

He did his body gore, 
The staff ran through the other side 

A large cloth-yard, and more. 

So thus did both these nobles dye, 
Whose courage none could staine : 

An English archer then perceiv'd 
The noble erle was slaine ; 

He had a bow bent in his hand, 

Made of a trusty tree ; 
An arrow of a cloth-yard long 

Up to the head drew hee : 

Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye, 

So right the shaft he sett, 
The grey goose-wing that was thereon, 

In his harts blood was wett. 

This fight did last from break of day, 
Till setting of the sun ; 



185 



190 



195 



144 



THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE. 



For when they rung the evening-bell,* 
The battle scarce was done. 200 

With stout Erie Percy, there was slaine 

Sir John of Egerton,f 
Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John, 

Sir James that bold barron : 

And with Sir George and stout Sir James, 
Both knights of good account, 206 

Good Sir Ralph Ruby there was slaine, 
Whose prowesse did surmount. 



For Witherington needs must I wayle 
As one in doleful dumpes ;J 

For when his leggs were smitten off, 
He fought upon his stumpes. 



210 



And with Erie Douglas, there was slaine 

Sir Hugh Mountgomerye, 
Sir Charles Murray, that from the feeld 215 

One foote wold never flee. 



Sir Charles Murray, of Ratcliff, too. 

His sisters sonne was hee ; 
Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd, 

Yet saved cold not bee. 



220 



225 



And the Lord Maxwell in like case 
Did with Erie Douglas dye : 

Of twenty hundred Scottish speres 
Scarce fifty-five did flye. 

Of fifteen hundred Englishmen, 
Went home but fifty-three ; 

The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chase, 
Under the greene woode tree. 



Next day did many widowes come, 

Their husbands to bewayle ; 230 

They washt their wounds in brinish teares, 
But all wold not prevayle. 

Theyr bodyes, bathed in purple gore, 

They bare with them away : 
They kist them dead a thousand times, 235 

Ere they were cladd in clay. 

* Sc. the Curfew bell, usually rung at eight o'clock ; to 
which the modernizer apparently alludes, instead of the 
" Evensong bell," or bell for vespers of the original author, 
before the Reformation. Vide supra, pag. 57, v. 97. 

t For the surnames, see the Notes at the end of the 
Ballad. 

X i. e. " I, as one in deep concern, must lament." The 
construction here has generally been misunderstood. The 
old MS. reads wofull dumpa. 



The newes was brought to Ivlilonborrow, 
Where Scottlanda king did raigne, 

That brave Kilo Douglas suddenlye 

Was with an arrow slaine: 240 

heavy newes, King James did say, 
Scottland may witnesse bee, 

1 have not any captaine more 
Of such account as bee. 

Like tydings to King Henry came, 245 

Within as short a space, 
That Percy of Northumberland 

Was slaine in Chevy-Chase : 

Now God be with him, said our king, 

Sith it will noe better bee ; 250 

I trust I have within my realme, 
Five hundred as good as he : 

Yett shall not Scotts nor Scotland say, 

But I will vengeance take : 
111 be revenged on them all, 255 

For brave Erie Percyes sake. 

This vow full well the king perform'd 

After, at Ilumbledowne ; 
In one day, fifty knights were slayne, 

With lords of great renowne ; 260 

And of the rest, of small account, 

Did many thousands dye : 
Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chase, 

Made by the Erie Percy. 

God save our king, and bless this land 265 

With plentye, joy, and peace; 
And grant henceforth, that foule debate 

'Twist noblemen may cease. 

*** Since the former impression of these 
volumes hath been published, a new edition 
of Collins's Peerage, 1779, &c, ix. vols, 8vo., 
which contains, in volume ii. p. 334, an histor- 
ical passage, which may be thought to throw 
considerable light on the subject of the pre- 
ceding Ballad : viz* 

"In this .... year, 1436, according to 
Hector Boethius, was fought the battle of 
Pepperden, not far from the Cheviot Hills, 
between the Earl of Northumberland [lid 
Earl, son of Hotspur], and Earl William 
Douglas, of Angus, with a small army of 
about four thousand men each, in which the 



DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST. 



145 



latter had the advantage. As this seems to 
have been a private conflict between these 
two great Chieftains of the Borders, rather 
than a national war, it has been thought to 
have given rise to the celebrated old ballad 
of Chevy-Chase ; which, to render it more 
pathetic and interesting, has been heightened 
with tragical incidents wholly fictitious." 
[See Ridpath's Border Hist. 4to., p. 401.] 

The surnames in the foregoing ballad are 
altered, either by accident or design, from 
the old original copy, and in common editions 
extremely corrupted. They are here rectified, 
as much as they could be. Thus, 

Page 144. 

Ver. 202. Egerton.] This name is restored 
(instead of Ogerton, com. ed.) from the Edi- 
tor's folio MS. The pieces in that MS. appear 
to have been collected, and many of them 
composed (among which might be this ballad) 
by an inhabitant of Cheshire: who was 
willing to pay a compliment here to one of 
his countrymen, of the eminent family De or 
Of Egerton (so the name was first written) 
ancestors of the present Duke of Bridgwater ; 
and this he could do with the more propriety, 
as the Percies had formerly great interest in 
that county : At the fatal battle of Shrews- 
bury, all the flower of the Cheshire gentle- 
men lost their lives fighting in the cause of 
Hotspur. 

Ver. 203. Rat-cliff.] This was a family much 
distinguished in Northumberland. Edw. 
Radcliffe, mil., was sheriff of that county in 
17 of Hen. VII., and others of the same sur- 
name afterwards. (See Fuller, p. 313.) Sir 



George Ratcliff, knt., was one of the commis- 
sioners of inclosure in 1552, (See Nichol- 
son, p. 330.) Of this family was the late 
Earl of Derwentwater, who was beheaded in 
1715. The Editor's folio MS., however, reads 
here, Sir Robert Harcliffe and Sir "William. 

The Harcleys were an eminent family in 
Cumberland. (See Fuller, p. 224.) Whether 
this may be thought to be the same name, I 
do not determine. 

Ver. 204. Baron.] This is apparently al- 
tered (not to say corrupted) from Hearone, 
in p. 55, ver. 114. 

Ver. 207. Raby.] This might be intended 
to celebrate one of the ancient possessors of 
Raby Castle, in the county of Durham. Yet 
it is written Rebbye, in the fol. MS., andlooks 
like a corruption of Rugby or Rokeby, an 
eminent family in Yorkshire. See p. 56, p. 
26. It will not be wondered that the Percies 
should be thought to bring followers out of 
that county, where they themselves were 
originally seated, and had always such exten- 
sive property and influence. 

Ver. 215. Murray.] So the Scottish copy. 
In the com. edit, it is Carrel or Currel ; and 
Morrell in the fol. MS. 

Ver. 217. Murray.] So the Scot, edit.— 
The common copies read Murrel. The fol. 
MS. gives the line in the following peculiar 
manner, 

" Sir Roger Heuer of Harcliffe too." 
Ver. 219. Lamb.] The folio MS. has 
" Sir David Lambwell, well esteemed." 

This seems evidently corrupted from Lwdale 
or Liddell, in the old copy, see pages 55, 62. 



II. 



Jatfe' u Jittal €nqmt 



These fine moral stanzas were originally 
intended for a solemn funeral song, in a play 
of James Shirley's, entitled, " The contention 
of Ajax and Ulysses ;" no date, 8vo. — Shirley 
flourished as a dramatic writer early in the 
reign of Charles I : but he outlived the Re- 
storation. His death happened October 29, 
1666, aet. 72. 
19 



This little poem was written long after 
many of those that follow, but is inserted 
here as a kind of dirge to the foregoing piece. 
It is said to have been a favourite song with 
K. Charles II. 

The glories of our birth and state 
Are shadows, not substantial things ; 



146 



THE RISING IN THE NORTH. 



There is no armour againBt fate: 
Death la) r s his icy hands on kings : 

Scepter and crown 5 

Must tumble down, 
And in the dust be equal made 
With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 

Some men with swords may reap the field, 

And plant fresh laurels where they kill, 10 
But their strong nerves at last must yield ; 
vThey tame but one another still. 
Early or late 
They stoop to fate, 



And must give up their murmuring breath, 
When they pale captives creep to death. 10 

The garlands wither on your brow, 

Then boast no more your mighty deeds: 
Upon death's purple altar now 

See where the victor victim bleeds : 20 
All heads must come 
To the cold tomb, 
Only the actions of the just 
Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust. 



III. 



ft Rising in t\t ^axih. 



Tite subject of this ballad is the great 
Nnrthern Insurrection in the 12th year of Eli- 
zabeth, 1569; which proved so fatal to Thomas 
Percy, the seventh Earl of Northumberland. 

There had not long before been a secret 
negotiation entered into between some of the 
Scottish and English nobility, to bring about 
a marriage between Mary Queen of Scots, at 
that time a prisoner in England, and the 
Duke of Norfolk, a nobleman of excellent 
character, and firmly attached to the Protest- 
ant religion. This match was proposed to all 
the most considerable considerable of the 
English nobility, and among the rest to the 
Earls of Northumberland and Westmoreland, 
two noblemen very powerful in the north. 
As it seemed to promise a speedy and safe 
conclusion of the troubles in Scotland, with 
many advantages to the crown of England, 
they all consented to it, provided it should 
prove agreeable to Queen Elizabeth. The 
Earl of Leicester (Elizabeth's favourite) un- 
dertook to break the matter to her ; but before 
he could find an opportunity, the affair had 
come to her ears by other hands, and she was 
thrown into a violent flame. The Duke of 
Norfolk, with several of his friends, was com- 
mitted to the Tower, and summons were sent 
to the northern earls instantly to make their 
appearance at court. It is said that the Earl 
of Northumberland, who was a man of a mild 
and gentle nature, was deliberating with him- 



self whether he should not obey the message, 
and rely upon the queen's candour and clem- 
ency, when he was forced into desperate 
measures by a sudden report at midnight, 
Nov. 14, that a party of his enemies were 
come to seize on his person.* The earl was 
then at his house at Topcliffe in Yorkshire. 
When rising hastily out of bed, he withdrew 
to the Earl of Westmoreland, at Brancepeth, 
where the country came in to them, and press- 
ed them to take arms in their own defence. 
They accordingly set up their standards, de- 
claring their intent was to restore the ancient 
religion, to get the succession of the crown 
firmly settled, and to prevent the destruction 
of the ancient nobility, &c. Their common 
bannerf (on which was displayed the cross, 
together with the five wounds of Christ), was 
borne by an ancient gentleman, Richard Nor- 
ton, Esq., of Norton-conyers : who with his 
sons (among whom, Christopher, Marma- 
duke, and Thomas, are expressly named by 
Camden], distinguished himself on this occa- 
sion. Having entered Durham, they tore the 
Bible, &c, and caused mass to be said there : 
they then marched on to Clifford Moor near 
Wethcrbye, where they mustered their men. 
Their intention was to have proceeded on 
to York ; but, altering their minds, they fell 



* This circumstance is overlooked in the ballad. 
f liesides this, the ballad mentions the separate banners 
of the two noblemon. 



THE RISING IN THE NORTH. 



147 



upon Barnard's castle, which Sir George 
Bowes held out against them for eleven days. 
The two earls, who spent their large estates 
in hospitality, and were extremely beloved on 
that account, were masters of little ready 
money, the Earl of Northumberland bringing 
with him only 8000 crowns, and the Earl of 
Westmoreland nothing at all for the subsist- 
ence of their forces, they were not able to 
march to London, as they had at first intended. 
In these circumstances, Westmoreland began 
so visibly to despond, that many of his men 
slunk away, though Northumberland still 
kept up his resolution, and was master of 
the field till December 13, when the Earl of 
Sussex, accompanied with Lord Hunsden and 
others, having marched out of York at the 
head of a large body of forces, and being fol- 
lowed by a still larger army under the com- 
mand of Ambrose Dudley, Earl of Warwick, 
the insurgents retreated northward towards 
the borders, and there dismissing their fol- 
lowers, made their escape into Scotland. 
Though this insurrection had been suppress- 
ed with so little bloodshed, the Earl of Sussex 
and Sir George Bowes marshal of the army 
put vast numbers to death by martial law, 
without any regular trial. The former of 
these caused at Durham sixty-three constables 
to be hanged at once. And the latter made 
his boast, that, for sixty miles in length, and 
forty in breadth, betwixt Newcastle and 
Wetherby, there was hardly a town or village 
wherein he had not executed some of the in- 
habitants. This exceeds the cruelties prac- 
tised in the west after Monmouth's rebellion: 
but that was not the age of tenderness and 
humanity. 

Such is the account collected from Stow, 
Speed, Camden, Guthrie, Carte, and Rapin ; 
it agrees in most particulars with the follow- 
ing ballad, which was apparently the produc- 
tion of some northern minstrel, who was well 
affected to the two noblemen. It is here 
printed from two MS. copies, one of them in 
the Editor's folio collection. They contained 
considerable variations, out of which such 
readings were chosen as seemed most poetical 
and consonant to history. 

Listen, lively lordings all, 

Lithe and listen unto mee, 
And I will sing of a noble earle, 

The noblest earle in the north countrle. 



Earle Percy is into his garden gone, 5 

And after him walkes his faire ladle :* 

I heard a bird sing in mine eare, 
That I must either fight, or flee. 

Now heaven forefend, my dearest lord, 
That ever such harm should hap to thee : 

But goe to London to the court, 1 1 

And faire fall truth and honestle. 

Now nay, now nay, my ladye gay, 
Alas ! thy counsell suits not mee ; 

Mine enemies prevail so fast, 15 

That at the court I may not bee. 

goe to the court yet, good my lord, 
And take thy gallant men with thee : 

If any dare to doe you wrong, 

Then your warrant they may bee. 20 

Now nay, now nay, thou lady faire, 

The court is full of subtiltle ; 
And if I goe to the court, lady, 

Never more I may thee see. 

Yet goe to the court, my lord, she sayes, 25 
And I myselfe will ride wi' thee : 

At court then for my dearest lord, 
His faithfull borrowe I will bee. 



Now nay, now nay, my lady deare ; 

For lever had I lose my life, 
Than leave among my cruell foes 

My love in jeopardy and strife. 



30 



But come thou hither my little foot-page, 

Come thou hither unto mee, 
To maister Norton thou must goe 35 

In all the haste that ever may bee. 

Commend me to that gentleman, 
And beare this letter here fro mee ; 

And say that earnestly I praye, 

He will ryde in my compan\e. 40 

One while the little foot-page went, 

And another while he ran ; 
Untill he came to his journeys end 

The little foot-page never blan. 

When to that gentleman he came, 45 

Down he kneeled on his knee : 



* This lady was Anne, daughter of Henry Somerset, Earl 
of Worcester. / 



148 



THE RISING IN THE NORTH. 



And tooke the letter betwixt his hands, 
And lett the gentleman it see. 

And when the letter it was redd 
Affore that goodlye eompanye, 

I wis, if you the truthe wold know, 
There was many a weepynge eye. 



50 



He sayd, Come thither, Christopher Norton, 
A gallant youth thou seemst to bee ; 

What doest thou counsell me, my sonne, 
Now that good erle's in jeopardy? 55 

Father, my counselled fair and free ; 

That erle he is a noble lord, 
And whatsoever to him you bight, 

I wold not have you breake your word. 60 

I 

Grarnercy, Christopher, my sonne, 

Thy counsell well it liketh mee, 
And if we speed and scape with life, 
' Well advanced shalt thou bee. 

Come you hither, mine nine good sonnes, 05 

Gallant men I trowe you bee: 
How many of you, my children deare, 

Will stand by thaf good eric and me ? 



Eight of them did answer make, 

Bight of them spake hastilie, 
O father, till the daye we dye 

We'll stand by that good erle and thee. 



JO 



Gramercy now, my children deare, 

You showe yourselves right bold and brave ; 

And whethersoe'er I live or dye, 75 

A fathers blessing you shal have. 

But what sayst thou, Francis Norton, 
That art mine oldest sonn and heire : 

Somewhat lyes brooding in thy breast ; 
Whatever it bee, to mee declare. 80 

Father, you are an aged man, 

Your head is white, your bearde is gray ; 
It were a shame at these your yoares 

For you to ryse in such a fray. 

Now fye upon thee, coward Francis, 85 

Thou never learnedst this of mee: 

When thou wert yong and tender of age, 
Why did I make soe much of thee ? 

But, father, I will wend with you, 

Unarm'd and naked will I bee ; 90 



And he that strikes against the crowne, 
Ever an ill death may he dee. 

Then rose that reverend gentleman, 
And with him came a goodlye band 

To join with the brave Erie Percy, 95 

And all the flower o' Northumberland. 

With them the noble Nevill came, 
The erle of Westmorland was hee : 

At Wetherbye they mustred their host, 
Thirteen thousand faire to see. 100 

Lord Westmorland his ancyent raisde, 

The Dun Bull he rays'd on hye, 
And three Dogs with golden collars 

Were there sett out most royallye.* 

Erie Percy there his aneyent spred, 105 

The Halfe-Moone shining all soe faire :f 

The Nortons ancyent had the crosse, 

And the five wounds our Lord did beare. 

* Ycr. 102, Dun Bull, &c. The supporters of the Nevilles 
Earls of Westmoreland were Two Bulls Argent, ducally 
collared gold, armed Or, &c. But I have not discovered 
the device mentioned in the ballad, among the badges, Ac, 
given by that bouse. This however is certain, that, among 
those of the Nevilles, Lord Abergavenny (who were of the 
same family), is a dun cow with a golden collar; and the 
Nevilles of Chyte in Yorkshire (of the Westmoreland 
branch), gave for their crest, in 1513 v a dog's (greyhound's) 
head erased. — So that it is not improbable but Charles 
Neville, the unhappy Earl of Westmoreland here men- 
tioned, might on thys occasion give the above device on his 
banner. — After all. our old minstrel's verses here may have 
undergone some corruption; for, in another ballad in the 
same folio MS., and apparently written by the same hand, 
containing the sequel of this Lord Westmoreland's history, 
his banner is thus described, more conformable to his known 
bearings : 

" Set me up my faire Dun Bull, 
Witli Gilden Homes, hee beares all soe hye." 
t Ver. 106. The Halfe-Moone, &c] The Silver Crescent 
is a well-known crest or badge of the Northumberland 
family. It was probably brought home from some of the 
crusades against the Sarazens. In an ancient pedigree in 
verse, finely illuminated on a roll of vellum, and written 
in the reign of 1 lenry VII. (in possession of the family), we 
have this fabulous account given of its original.— The 
author begins with accounting for the name of Gernon or 
Algernon, often borne by the Percies ; who, he says, were 

Gernons fyrst named Brutys bloude of Troy : 

Which valliantly fyghtynge in the land of Perse [Persia] 

At pointe terrible ayancc the miscreants on nyght, 

An hevynly mystery was schewyd hym, old bookys reherse ; 

In hys scheld did schyne a Mone veryfying her lyght, 

Whyeh to all the ooste gave a perfytte fyght, 

To vaynquys bis enemy s, and to deth them persue: 

And therefore the Perses [Percies] the Crescent doth renew. 

In the dark ages no family was deemed considerable that 

did not derive its descent from tin- Trojan Brutus; or that 

was not distinguished by prodigies and miracles. 



NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS. 



149 



Then Sir George Bowes he straitwaye rose, 
After them some spoyle to make : 110 

Those noble erles turn'd backe againe, 
And aye they vowed that knight to take. 

That baron he to his castle fled 
To Barnard castle then fled hee. 

The uttermost walles were cathe to win, 115 
The earles have wonne them presentlle. 

The uttermost walles were lime and bricke ; 

But thoughe they won them soon anone, 
Long e'er they wan the innermost walles, 

For they were cut in rocke of stone. 120 

Then newes unto leeve London came 
In all the speede that ever might bee, 

And word is brought to our royall queene 
Of the rysing in the North countrie. 

Her grace she turned her round about, 125 
And like a royall quccne shee swore,* 

I will ordayne them such a breakfast, 
As never was in the North before. 



* This is quite in character : hor majesty would some- 
times swear at hor nobles, as well as box their ears. 



Shee caus'd thirty thousand men berays'd 
With horse and harneis faire to see ; 130 

She caused thirty thousand men be raised, 
To take the earles i' th' North countrie. 

Wi' them the false Erie "Warwick went, 
Th' Erie Sussex and the Lord Hunsden ; 

Untill they to Yorke castle came 
I wiss, they never stint ne blan. 135 

Now spred thy ancyent, Westmorland, 
Thy dun bull faine would we spye : 

And thou, the Erie o' Northumberland, 
Now rayse thy half moone up on hye. 140 

But the dun bullc is fled and gone, 
And the halfe moone vanished away : 

The Erles, though they were brave and bold, 
Against soe many could not stay. 

Thee, Norton, wi' thine eight good sonncs, 
They doom'd to dye, alas ! for ruth ! 146 

Thy reverend lockes thee could not save, 
Nor them their faire and blooming youthe. 



Wi' them full many a gallant wight 
They cruellye bercav'd of life : 

And many a childe made fatherlesse, 
And widowed many a tender wife. 



150 



IV. 



ITffillmmbtrlanb- §rtra£cb bji $0%glM. 



This ballad may be considered as the se- 
quel of the preceding. After the unfortunate 
Earl of Northumberland had seen himself 
forsaken of his followers, he endeavoured to 
withdraw into Scotland, but falling into the 
hands of the thievish borderers, was stript 
and otherwise ill-treated by them. At length 
he reached the house of Hector, of Harlaw, 
an Armstrong, with whom he hoped to lie 
concealed : for Hector had engaged his hon- 
our to be true to him, and was under great 
obligations to this unhappy nobleman. But 
this faithless wretch betrayed his guest for a 
sum of money to Murray the Regent of Scot- 
land, who sent him to the castle of Lough- 
leven, then belonging to William Douglas. — 
All the writers of that time assure us, that 
Hector, who was rich before, fell shortly after 



into poverty, and became so infamous, that to 
take Hector's cloak, grew into a proverb to 
express a man who betrays his friend. See 
Camden, Carleton, Holingshed, &c. 

Lord Northumberland continued in the 
castle of Lough-leven till the year 1572 ; 
when James Douglas Earl of Morton being 
elected Regent, he was given up to the Lord 
Hunsden at Berwick, and being carried to 
York suffered death. As Morton's party de- 
pended on Elizabeth for protection, an ele- 
gant historian thinks "it was scarce possible 
for them to refuse putting into her hands a 
person who had taken up arms against her. 
But as a sum of money was paid on that ac- 
count, and shared between Morton and his 
kinsman Douglas, the former of whom, dur- 
ing his exile in England, had been much in- 



150 



NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS. 



debted to Northumberland's friendship, the 
abandoning this unhappy nobleman to inevi- 
table destruction, was deemed an ungrateful 
and mercenary act." Robertson's Hist. 

So far History coincides with this ballad, 
which was apparently written by some north- 
ern bard soon after the event. The interpo- 
sal of the "Witch-Lady" (v. 53,) is probably 
his own invention : yet, even this hath some 
countenance from history ; for, about twenty- 
five years before, the Lady Jane Douglas, 
Lady Glamis, sister of the Earl of Angus, 
and nearly related to Douglas of Lough-leven, 
had suffered death for the pretended crime of 
witchcraft ; who, it is presumed, is the Witch- 
lady alluded to in verse 133. 

The following is selected (like the former) 
from two copies, which contained great vari- 
ations ; one of them in the Editor's folio MS. 
In the other copy some of the stanzas at the 
beginning of this Ballad are nearly the same 
with what in that MS. are made to begin an- 
other Ballad on the escape of the Earl of 
Westmoreland, who got safe into Flanders, 
and is feigned in the ballad to have under- 
gone a great variety of adventures. 

How long shall fortune faile me nowe, 
And harrowe me with fear and dread ? 

How long shall I in bale abide, 
In misery my life to lead ? 

To fall from mybliss, alas the while ! 5 

It was my sore and heavye lott : 
And I must leave my native land, 

And I must live a man forgot. 

One gentle Armstrong I doe ken, 

A Scot he is much bound to mee : 10 

He dwelleth on the border side, 

To him I'll goe right priville. 

Thus did the noble Percy 'plaine, 
With a heavy heart and wel away, 

When he with all his gallant men 15 

On Bramham moor had lost the day. 

But when he to the Armstrongs came, 
They dealt with him all treacherouslye ; 

For they did strip that noble earle : 

And ever an ill death may they dye. 20 

False Hector to Earl Murray sent, 

To shew him where his guest did hide: 



Who sent him to the Lough-leven, 
With William Douglas to abide. 

And when he to the Douglas came, 25 

He halched him right courteouslie, 

Say'd, Welcome, welcome, noble earle, 
Here thou shalt safelye bide with mee. 

When he had in Lough-leven been 

Many a month and many a day : 30 

To the regent* the lord wardenf sent, 
That bannisht earle for to betray. 

He offered him great store of gold, 

And wrote a letter fair to see : 
Saying, Good my lord, grant me my boon, 

And yield that banisht man to mee. 36 

Earle Percy at the supper sate 
With many a goodly gentleman : 

The wylie Douglas then bespake, 

And thus to flyte with him began : 40 

What makes you be so sad, my lord, 
And in your mind so sorrowfullye ? 

To-morrow a shootinge will bee held 
Among the lords of the North countrye. 

The butts are sett, the shooting's made, 45 
And there will be great royaltye : 

And I am sworne into my bille, 
Thither to bring my Lord Percye. 

I'll give thee my hand, thou gentle Douglas, 
And here by my true faith, quoth hee, 50 

If thou wilt ryde to the worldes end 
I will ryde in thy companye. 

And then bespake a lady faire, 
Mary a Douglas was her name : 

You shall byde here, good English lord, 55 
My brother is a traiterous man. 

He is a traitor stout and strong, 

As I tell you in privitie : 
For he hath tane liverance of the earle, J 

Into England nowe to Tiver thee. 60 

Now nay, now nay, thou goodly lady, 
The regent is a noble lord : 



* James Douglas, Earl of Morton, elected regent of Scot- 
land, Novomber 24, 1572. 
t Of one of the English marches. Lord Hunsden. 
t Of the Earl of Morton, the Regent. 



NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS. 


151 


Ne for the gold in all England 




Yet step one moment here aside, 




The Douglas wold not break his word. 




Ile showe you all your foes in field. 




When the regent was a banisht man, 


65 


Lady, I never loved witchcraft, 


105 


"With me he did faire welcome find ; 




Never dealt in privy wyle ; 




And whether weal or woe betide, 




But evermore held the high-waye 




I still shall find him true and kind. 




Of truth and honour, free from guile. 




Betweene England and Scotland it wold 


If you'll not come yourselfe, my lorde, 




breake truce, 




Yet send your chamberlaine with mee 


> 


And friends againe they wold never bee, 


Let me but speak three words with him, 


111 


If they shold 'liver a banisht erle 


71 


And he shall come again to thee. 




Was driven out of his own countrie. 




James Swynard with that lady went, 




Alas! alas ! my lord, she sayes, 




She showed him through the weme of her 


Nowe mickle is their traitorle ; 




ring 




Then lett my brother ryde his wayes, 


75 


How many English lords there were 


115 


And tell those English lords from thee, 




Waiting for his master and him. 




How that you cannot with him ryde, 




And who walkes yonder, my good lady, 




Because you are in an ile of the sea,* 




So royallye on yonder greene ? 




Then ere my brother come againe 




O yonder is the Lord Hunsden :* 




To Edenborow castle f Ile carry thee. 


80 


Alas ! he'll doe you drie and teene. 


120 


To the Lord Hume I will thee bring, 




And who beth yonder, thou gay ladye, 




He is well knowne a true Scots lord, 




That walkes so proudly him beside ? 




And he will lose both land and life, 




That is Sir William Drury,f shee sayd, 




Ere he with thee will break his word. 




A keene captaine hee is and tryde. 




Much is my woe, Lord Percy sayd, 


85 


How many miles is itt, madame, 


125 


When I thinke on my own countrie, 




Betwixt yond English lords and mee? 




When I thinke on the heavye happe 




Marry it is thrice fifty miles, • 




My friends have suffered there for mee 




To saile to them upon the sea. 




Much is my woe, Lord Percy sayd, 


90 


I never was on English ground, 




And sore those wars my minde distresse ; 


Ne never sawe it with mine eye, 


130 


Where many a widow lost her mate, 




But as my book it sheweth mee ; 




And many a child was fatherlesse. 




And through my ring I may descrye. 




And now that I a banisht man 




My mothef shee was a witch lad} T e, 




Shold bring such evil happe with mee, 




And of her skille she learned mee ; 




To cause my faire and noble friends 


95 


She wold let me see out of Lough-leven 


135 


To be suspect of treacherie : 




What they did in London citle. 




This rives my heart with double woe ; 




But who is yond, thou ladye faire, 




And lever had I dye this day, 




That looketh with sic an austerne face 


? 


Than thinke a Douglas can be false, 




Yonder is Sir John Foster, J quoth shee, 




Or ever he will his guest betray. 


100 


Alas ! he'll do ye sore disgrace. 


140 


If you'll give me no trust, my lord, 




He pulled his hatt downe over his browe 




Nor unto mee no credence yield ; 




He wept ; in his heart he was full of woe : 


* i. e. Lake of Leyen, which hath communication with 


* The lord warden of the East marches. 




the sea. 




+ Governor of Berwick. 




t At that time in the hands of the opposite faction. 

20 

w 




{ Warden of the Middle-march. 





152 



NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS. 



And he is gone to his noble lord, 

Those sorrowful tidings him to show. 

Now nay, now nay, good James Swynard, 
I may not believe that witch ladle ; 146 

The Douglasses were ever true, 

And they can ne'er prove false to mee. 

I have now in Lough-leven been 

The most part of these years three, 150 
Yett have I never had noe outrake, 

Ne no good games that I cold see. 

Therefore I'll to yond shooting wend, 
As to the Douglas I have bight : 

Betide me weale, betide me woe, 155 

He ne'er shall find my promise light. 

He writhe a gold ring from his finger, 

And gave itt to that gay ladle : 
Sayes, It was all that I cold save, 

In Ilarley woods where I cold bee.* 160 

And wilt thou goe, thou noble lord, 
Then farewell truth and honestle ; 

And farewell heart and farewell hand ; 
For never more I shall thee see. 

The wind was faire, the boatmen call'd, 165 
And all the saviors were on borde ; 

Then William Douglas took to his boat, 
And with him went that noble lord. 



Then he cast up a silver wand, 
Says, Gentle lady, fare thee well ! 

The lady fett a sigh soe deep, 

And in a dead swoone down shee fell. 



170 



Now let us goe back, Douglas, he sayd, 
A sickness hath taken yond faire ladle ; 

If ought befall yond lady but good, 175 

Then blamed for ever I shall bee. 

Come on, come on, my lord, he sayes ; 

Come on, come on, and let her bee : 
There's ladyea enow in Lough-leven 

For to cheere that gay ladle. 180 

If you'll not turne yourself, my lord, 
Let me goe with my chamberlaine ; 

We will but comfort that faire lady, 
And wee will return to you againe. 

Come on, come on, my lord, he sayes ; 185 
Come on, come on, and let her bee: 

* i. e. Where I was. An ancient idiom. 



My sister is craftye, and wold beguile 
A thousand such as you and mee. 

When they had sayled* fifty myle, 

. Now fifty mile upon the sea ; 190 

Hee sent his man to ask the Douglas, 
When they shold that shooting see. 

Faire words, quoth he, they make fooles fame, 
And that by thee and thy lord is seen: 

You may hap to thinke itt soone enough, 195 
Ere you that shooting reach, I w r een. 

Jamye his hatt pulled over his browe, 
He thought his lord then was betray'd; 

And he is to Erie Percy againe, 

To tell him what the Douglas sayd. 200 

Hold upp thy head, man, quoth his lord ; 

Nor therefore lett thy courage fayle, 
He did it but to prove thy heart, 

To see if he cold make it quail. 

When they had other fifty sayld, 205 

Other fifty mile upon the sea, 
Lord Percy called to Douglas himselfe, 

Sayd, What wilt thou nowe doe with mee ? 

Looke that your brydle be wight, my lord, 
And your horse goe swift as shipp att sea: 

Looke that your spurres be bright and sharpe, 
That you may pricke her while she'll away. 

What needeth this, Douglas? he sayth ; 

What needest thou to flyte with mee ? 
For I was counted a horseman good 215 

Before that ever I mett with thee. 

A false Hector hath my horse, 

Who dealt with nice so treacherouslle : 

A false Armstrong hath my spurres, 

And all the geere belongs to mee. 220 

When they had sayled other fifty mile, 

Other fifty mile upon the sea ; 
They landed low by Berwicke side, 

A deputed ' laird' landed Lord Percye. 

Then he at Yorke was doomde to die, 225 
It was, alas ! a sorrowful sight : 

Thus they betrayed that noble earle, 
Who ever was a gallant wight. 

* There is no navigable stream between Lough-leven and 
the sea; but a ballad-maker is not obliged to understand 
geography. 

Ver. 224. fol. MS. reads land, and has not the following 
stanza. 



MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS. 



153 



tnft to me a Jiingtom is. 



This excellent philosophical song appears 
to have been famous in the sixteenth century. 
It is quoted by Ben Jonson in his play of 
" Every Man out of his Humour," first acted 
in 1599, act i. sc. 1, where an impatient per- 
son says, 

" I am no such pil'd cynique to believe 
That beggery is the onely happinesse, 
Or, with a number of these patient fooles, 
To sing, ' My minde to me a kingdome is,' 
"When the lanke hungrie belly barkes for 
foode." 

It is here chiefly printed from a thin quarto 
Music book, entitled, " Psalmes, Sonets, and 
Songs of sadnes and pietie, made into Mu- 
sicke of five parts : &c. By William Byrd, 
one of the Gent, of the Queenes Majesties 
honorable Chappell. — Printed by Thomas 
East, &c," 4to. no date: but Ames in his 
Typog. has mentioned another edit, of the 
same book, dated 1588, which I take to have 
been later than this. 

Some improvements, and an additional 
stanza (sc. the 5th) were had from two other 
ancient copies ; one of them in black letter 
in the Pepys Collection, thus inscribed, " A 
sweet and pleasant sonet, intitled, ' My Minde 
to me a Kingdom is.' To the tune of In 
Crete, &c." 

Some of the stanzas in this poem were 
printed by Byrd separate from the rest : they 
are here given in what seemed the most natu- 
ral order. 

My minde to me a kingdom is ; 

Such perfect joy therein I finde 
As farre exceeds all earthly blisse, 

That God or Nature hath assignde : 
Though much I want, that most would have, 
Yet still my mind forbids to crave. 6 

Content I live, this is my stay ; 

I seek no more than may suffice: 
I presse to beare no haughtie sway ; 

Look what I lack my mind supplies. 10 



Loe ! thus I triumph like a king, 
Content with that my mind doth bring. 

I see how plentie surfets oft, 

And hastie clymbers soonest fall : 

I see that such as sit aloft 15 

Mishap doth threaten most of all ; 

These get with toile, and keep with feare : 

Such cares my mind could never beare. 

No princely pompe, nor welthie store, 

No force to winne the victorie, 20 

No wylie wit to salve a sore, 
No shape to winne a lovers eye ; 

To none of these I yeeld as thrall, 

For why my mind despiseth all. 

Some have too much, yet still they crave, 25 

I little have, yet seek no more : 
They are but poore, tho much they have ; 

And I am rich with little store : 
They poor, I rich ; they beg, I give ; 
They lacke, I lend ; they pine, I live. 30 

I laugh not at anothers losse, 
I grudge not at anothers gaine ; 

No worldly wave my mind can tosse, 
I brooke that is anothers bane : 

I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend ; 35 

I lothe not life, nor dread mine end. 

I joy not in no earthly blisse ; 

I weigh not Cresus' welth a straw ; 
For care, I care not what it is ; 

I feare not fortunes fatall law : 40 

My mind is such as may not move 
For beautie bright or force <3f love. 

I wish but what I have at will ; 

I wander not to seeke for more ; 
I like the plaine, I clime no hill ; 45 

In greatest stormes I sitte on shore, 
And laugh at them that toile in vaine 
To get what must be lost againe. 

I kisse not where I wish to kill : 
I feigne not love where most I hate; 50 



154 



THE PATIENT COUNTESS. 



I hroake no Bleep to winne my will ; 
I wayte not at the mighties gate : 
I scorne no poore, I feare no rich ; 

I fcele no want, nor have too much. 

The court, nc cart, I like, no loath ; 

Extreames are counted worst of all 
The golden meane betwixt them both 

Doth surest sit, and feares no fall ; 



r^ 



This is my choyce, for why I finde, 
No wealth is like a quiet mindo. 



60 



My welth is health, and perfect ease ; 

My conscience clere my chiefe defence : 
I never seeke by brybes to please, 

Nor by desert to give offence : 
Thus do I live, thus will I die ; 65 

Would all did so as well as I ! 



VI. 



%\t fatuttt tetttm. 



The subject of this tale is taken from that 
entertaining colloquy of Erasmus, entitled 
" Uxor Meinptyapos, sive Conjugium :" which 
has been agreeably modernized by the late Mr. 
Spence,in his little miscellaneous publication, 
entitled " Moralities, &c, by Sir Harry Beau- 
mont," 1753, 8vo. pag. 42. 

The following stanzas are extracted from 
an ancientpoem entitled "Albion's England," 
written by W. Warner, a celebrated poet in 
the reign of Queen Elizabeth, though his 
name and works are now equally forgotten. 
The reader will find some account of him in 
Series the Second, book ii. song 24. 

The following stanzas are printed from the 
author's improved edition of his work, printed 
in 1602, 4to. ; the third impression of which 
appeared so early as 1592, in bl. let. 4to. — 
The edition in 1602 is in thirteen books ; and 
so it is reprinted in 1612, 4to. ; yet in 1606 
was published " A continuance of Albion's 
England, by the first author, W. W. Lond. 
4to. :" this contains books xiv., xv., xvi. In 
Ames's Typography is preserved the memory 
of another publication of this writer's, enti- 
tled, "Warner's Poetry," printed in 1580, 
12mo., and reprinted in 1602. There is also 
extant, under the name of Warner, " Syrinx, 
on fold Hist, pleasant and profitable, 
il, and tragical," 4to. 

It is proper to demise that the following 
lines were not written by the author in Stan- 
zas, but in long Alexandrines of fourteen 
syllables : which the narrowness of our page 
made it here necessary to subdivide. 



Impatience chaungeth smoke to flame, 

But jelousie is hell ; 
Some wives by patience have redue'd 

111 husbands to live well : 
As did the ladie of an earle, 5 

Of whom I now shall tell. 

An earle ' there was' had wedded, lov'd ; 

Was lov'd, and lived long 
Full true to his fayre countesse ; yet 

At last he did her wrong. 10 

Once hunted he untill the chace, 

Long fasting, and the heat 
Did house him in a peakish graunge 

Within a forest great. 

Where knowne and welcom'd (as the place 
And persons might afibrde) 16 

Browne bread, whig, bacon, curds and milke 
Were set him on the boi'de. 

A cushion made of lists, a stoole 

Halfe backed with a hoope 20 

Were brought him, and he sitteth down 

Besides a sorry coupe. 

The poore old couple wisht their bread 
Were wheat, their whig were perry, 

Their bacon beefe, their milke and curds 25 
Were creame, to make him merry. 

Mean while (in russet neatly clad, 

With linen white as swanne, 
Herselfe more white, save rosie where 

The ruddy colour ranne : 30 



THE PATIENT COUNTESS. 



155 



"Whome naked nature, not the aydes 

Of arte made to excell) 
The good man's daughter sturres to see 

That all were feat and well ; 
The earle did marke her, and admire 35 

Such beautie there to dwell. 

Yet fals he to theis homely fare, 

And held him at a feast : 
But as his hunger slaked, so 

An amorous heat increast. 40 

When this repast was past, and thanks, 

And welcome too ; he sayd 
Unto his host and hostesse, in 

The hearing of the mayd : 

Yee know, quoth he, that I am lord 45 

Of this, and many townes ! 
I also know that you be poore, 

And I can spare you pownes. 

Soe will I, so yee will consent, 

That yonder lasse and I 50 

May bargaine for her love ; at least, 

Doe give me leave to trye. 
Who needs to know it ? nay who dares 

Into my doings pry ? 

First they mislike, yet at the length 55 

For lucre were misled ; 
And then the gamesome earle did wowe 

The damsell for his bed. 

He took her in his armes, as yet 

So coyish to be kist, 60 

As mayds that know themselves belov'd, 

And yieldingly resist. 

In few, his offers were so large 

She lastly did consent ; 
With whom he lodged all that night, 65 

And early home he went. 

He tooke occasion oftentimes 

In such a sort to hunt, 
Whom when his lady often mist, 

Contrary to his wont, 70 

And lastly was informed of 

His amorous haunt elsewhere, 
It greev'd her not a little, though 

She seem'd it well to beare. 



And thus she reasons with herselfe, 75 

Some fault perhaps in me ; 
Somewhat is done, that soe he doth ; 

Alas ! what may it bee ? 

How may I winne him to myself? 

He is a man, and men 80 

Have imperfections ; it behooves 

Me pardon nature then. 

To checke him were to make him checke* 

Although hee now were chaste 
A man controuled of his wife, 85 

To her makes lesser haste. 



If duty then, or daliance may 
Prevayle to alter him ; 

I will be dutifull, and make 
My selfe for daliance trim. 



90 



So was she, and so lovingly 
Did entertaine her lord, 

As fairer, or more faultles none 
Could be for bed or bord. 



95 



Yet still he loves his leiman, and 

Did still pursue that game, 
Suspecting nothing less, than that 

His lady knew the same : 
Wherefore to make him know she knew, 

She this devise did frame : 100 

When long she had been wrong'd and sought 

The foresayd meanes in vaine, 
She rideth to the simple graunge 

But with a slender traine. 

She lighteth, entreth, greets them well 105 

And then did looke about her, 
The guiltie houshold knowing her, 

Did wish themselves without her ; 
Yet, for she looked merily, 

The lesse they did misdoubt her. 110 

When she had seen the beauteous wench 

(Then blushing fairnes fairer) 
Such beauty made the countesse hold 

Them both excus'd the rather. 

Who would not bite at such a bait? 115 

Thought she: and who (though loth) 

* To check is a term in falconry, applied when a hawk 
stops and turns away from his proper pursuit : to check 
also signifies to reprove or chide. It is in this ver*e used 
in both senses. 



156 THE PATIENT COUNTESS. 


So poorc a wench, but gold might tempt ? 


Who now return'd from far affaires 




Sweet errors lead them both. 


Did to his sweet-heart go. 




Scarse one in twenty that had bragg'd 


No sooner sat he foote within 


155 


Of proffer'd gold denied, 120 


The late deformed cote, 




Or of such yeelding beautie baulkt, 


But that the formall change of things 




But, tenne to one, had lied. 


His wondering eies did note. 




Tims thought she : and she thus declares 


But when he knew those goods to be 




Her cause of coming thether ; 


His propor goods ; though late, 


160 


My lord, oft hunting in these partes, 125 


Scarce taking leave, he home returnes 




Through travel, night or wether, 


The matter to debate. 




Hath often lodged in your house ; 


The countesse was a-bed, and he 




I thanke you for the same ; 


With her his lodging tooke ; 




For why ? it doth him jolly ease 


Sir, welcome home (quoth shee); this night 


To lie so neare his game. 130 


For you I did not looke. 


166 


But, for you have not furniture 


Then did he question her of such 




Beseeming such a guest, 


His stuffe bestowed soe. 




I bring his owne, and come myselfe 


Forsooth, quoth she, because I did 




To see his lodging drest. 


Your love and lodging knowe : 


170 


With that two sumpters were discharge, 
In Avhich were hangings brave, 136 

Silke coverings, curtens, carpets, plate, 
And al such turn should have. 


Your love to be a proper wench, 




Your lodging nothing lesse ; 
I held it for your health, the house 






More decently to dresse. 




When all was handsomly dispos'd, 






She prayes them to have care 140 


Well wot I, notwithstanding her, 


175 


That nothing hap in their default, 


Your lordship loveth me : 




That might his health impair : 


And greater hope to hold you such 






By quiet, then brawles, ' you' see. 




And, damsell, quoth shee, for it seems 






This houshold is but three, 


Then for my duty, your delight, 




And for thy parents age, that this 145 


And to retaine your favour 


180 


Shall chiefely rest on thee ; 


All done I did, and patiently 
Expect your wonted 'haviour. 




Do me that good, else would to God 






He hither come no more. 


Her patience, witte and answer wrought 


So tooke she horse, and ere she went 


His gentle teares to fall : 




Bestowed gould good store. 150 


When (kissing her a score of times) 
Amend, sweet wife, I shall : 


185 


Full little thought the countie that 


He said, and did it : 'so each wife 




His countesse had done so ; 


Her husband may' recall. 





DOWSABELL. 



157 



VII. 



gfltoajtbHI. 



The following stanzas were written by 
Michael Drayton, a poet of some eminence in 
the reigns of Queen Elizabeth, James I., and 
Charles I.* They are inserted in one of his 
pastorals, the first edition of which bears this 
whimsical title. " Idea. The Shepheards 
Garland, fashioned in nine Eglogs. Row- 
land's Sacrifice to the Nine Muses. London, 
1593." 4to. They are inscribed with the 
author's name at length " To the noble and 
and valerous gentleman Master Robert Dud- 
ley, &c." It is very remarkable that when 
Drayton reprinted them in the first folio edit, 
of his works, 1619, he had given those eco- 
logues so thorough a revisal, that there is 
hardly a line to be found the same as in the 
old edition. This poem had received the 
fewest corrections, and therefore is chiefly 
given from the ancient copy, where it is thus 
introduced by one of his shepherds : 

Listen to mee, my lovely shepheards joye, 
And thou shalt heare, with mirth and 
mickle glee, 

A pretie tale, which when I was a boy, 
My toothles grandame oft hath tolde to me. 

The author has professedly imitated the 
style and metre of some of the old metrical 
romances, particularly that of Sir Isenbrasf 
(alluded to in v. 3), as the reader may judge 
from the following specimen : 

Lordynges, lysten, and you shal here, &c. 
* # * * 

Ye shall well heare of a knight, 
That was in warre full wyght 

And doughtye of his dede : 
His name was Syr Isenbras, 10 

Man nobler than he was 

Lyved none with breade. 
He was lyvely, large, and longe, 
With shoulders broade, and armes stronge, 

That myghtie was to se : 15 

* He was born in 1563, and died in 1631. Big. Brit, 
t As also Chaucer's Rhyme of Sir Topas, v. 6. 



He was a hardye man, and hye, 
All men hym loved that hym se, 

For a gentyll knight was he : 
Harpers loved him in hall, 
With other minstrells all, 

For he gave them gold and fee, &c. 



20 



This ancient legend was printed in black- 
letter, 4to., by William Copland; no date. 
In the Cotton Library (Calig. A. 2) is a MS. 
copy of the same romance, containing the 
greatest variations. They are probably two 
different translations of some French ori- 
ginal. 

Farre in the countrey of Arden, 
There won'd a knight, hight Cassemen, 

As bold as Isenbras : 
Fell was he, and eger bent, 
In battell and in tournament, 5 

As was the good Sir Topas. 

He had, as antique stories tell, 
A daughter cleaped Dowsabel, 

A mayden fayre and free : 
And for she was her fathers heire, 10 

Full well she was y-cond the leyre 

Of mickle courtesie. 

The silke well couth she twist and twine, 
And make the fine march-pine, 

And with the needle werke : 15 

And she couth helpe the priest to say 
His mattins on a holy-day, 

And sing a psalme in kirke. 

She ware a frock of frolicke greene, 

Might well beseeme a mayden queene, 20 

Which seemly was to see ; 
A hood to that so neat and fine, 
In colour like the columbine, 

Y-wrought full featously. 

Her features all as fresh above, 25 

As is the grasse that growes by Dove ; 
And lyth as lasse of Kent. 



158 



DOWSABELL. 



Her skin as soft as Lemster wooll, 
As white as snow on Poakish Hull, 
Or swanne tliat swims in Trent. 



30 



This mayden in a morne betime 

Went forth when May was in her prime, 

To get sweete cetywall, 
The honey-suckle, the harlocke, 
The lilly and the lady smocke, 35 

To deck her summer hall. 

Thus, as she wandred here and there, 
Y-picking of the bloomed breere, 

She chanced to espie 
A shepheard sitting on a bancke 40 

Like chanteclere he crowed cranke, 

And pip'd full merrilie. 

He lear'd his sheepe as he him list, 
When he would whistle in his fist, 

To feede about him round ; 45 

Whilst he full many a carrol sung, 
Untill the fields and medowes rung, 

And all the woods did sound. 

In favour this same shepheards swayne 
Was like the bedlam Tamburlayne,* 50 

Which helde prowd kings in awe : 
But meeke he was as a lamb mought be ; 
An innocent of ill as hef 

Whom his lewd brother slaw. 

The shepheard ware a sheepe-gray cloke, 55 
Which was of the finest loke, 

That could be cut with sheere : 
His mittens were of bauzens skinne, 
His cockers were of cordiwin, 

His hood of meniveere. 60 

His aulc and lingell in a thong, 
His tar-boxe on his broad belt hong, 

His breech of coyntrie blewe ; 
Full crispe and curled were his lockes, 
His browes as white as Albion rocks : 65 

So like a lover true. 

And pyping still he spent the day. 
So merry as the popingay ; 

Which liked Dowsabel: 
That would she ought, or would she nought, 
This lad would never from her thought; 71 

She in love-longing fell. 

* Alluding to •' Tamburlaine thp Great, or the Scythian 
Shepheard," 1590, 8vo., an old ranting play ascribed to 
Marlowe. f Sc. Abel. 



At length she tucked up her frocke, 
White as a lilly was her smocke, 

She drew the shepheard nye : 
But then the shepheard pyp'd a good, 
That all his sheepe forsooke their foode, 

To heare his melodye. 

Thy sheepe, quoth she, cannot be leane, 
That have a jolly shepheards swayne, 

The which can pipe so well : 
Yea but, sayth he, their shepheard may, 
If pyping thus he pine away 

In love of Dowsabel. 



75 



85 



Of love, fond boy, take thou no keepe, 
Quoth she ; looke thou unto thy sheepe, 

Lest they should hap to stray. 
Quoth he, So I had done full well, 
Had I not seen fayre Dowsabell 

Come forth to gather maye. 90 

With that she gan to vaile her head, 
Her cheeks were like the roses red, 

But not a word she sayd : 
With that the shepheard gan to frowne, 
He threw his pretie pypes adowne, 95 

And on the ground him layd. 

Sayth she, I may not stay till night, 
And leave my summer-hall undight, 

And all for long of thee. 
My coate, sayth he, nor yet my foulde 100 
Shall neither sheepe nor shepheard hould, 

Except thou favour mee. 

Sayth she, Yet lever were I dead,-. 
Then I should lose my mayden-head, 

And all for love of men. 105 

Sayth he, Yet are you too unkind, 
If in your heart you cannot finde 

To love us now and then. 

And I to thee will be as kinde 

As Colin was to Rosalinde, 110 

Of curtesie the flower. 
Then will I be as true, quoth she, 
As ever mayden yet might be 

Unto her paramour. 

With that she bent her snow-white knee, 115 
Down by the shepheard kneeled shee, 

And him she sweetly kist : 
With that the shepheard whoop'd for joy, 
Quoth he, Ther's never shepheards boy 

That ever was so blist. 120 



ULYSSES AND THE SYREN. 



159 



VIII. 



;* |auto*II iff fato*. 



From Beaumont and Fletcher's play, enti- 
tled The Lover's Progress, act iii. sc. 1. 

Adieu, fond love, farewell you wanton powers ; 

I am free again. 
Thou dull disease of bloud and idle hours, 
Bewitching pain, 
Fly to fools, that sigh away their time : 5 
My nobler love to heaven doth climb, 



And there behold beauty still young. 
That time can ne'er corrupt, nor death de- 
stroy, 
Immortal sweetness by fair angels sung, 

And honoured by eternity and joy : 10 
There lives my love, thither my hopes aspire, 
Fond love declines, this heavenly love grows 
higher. 



IX. 



m anfc t\t Span. 



— affords a pretty poetical contest between 
Pleasure and Honour. It is found at the end 
of " Hymen's Triumph : a pastoral tragi- 
comedie," written by Daniel, and printed 
among his works, 4to, 1623.* — Daniel, who 
was a contemporary of Drayton's, and is said 
to have been poet laureat to Queen Elizabeth, 
was born in 1562, and died in 1619. Anne 
Countess of Dorset, Pembroke, and Mont- 
gomery (to whom Daniel had been Tutor), has 
inserted a small portrait of him in a full- 
length picture of herself, preserved at Ap- 
pleby Castle, in Cumberland. 

This little poem is the rather selected for 
a specimen of Daniel's poetic powers, as it 
is omitted in the later edition of his works, 
2 vols. 12mo. 1718. 

Syren. 

Come, worthy Greeke, Ulysses come, 

Possesse these shores with me, 
The windes and seas are troublesome, 

And here we may be free. 
Here may we sit and view their toyle 5 

That travaile in the deepe, 
Enjoy the day in mirth the while, 

And spend the night in sleepe. 

* In this edition it is collated with a copy printed at the 
end of his " Tragedie of Cleopatra. London, 1607," 12mo. 

21 



Ulysses. 
Faire nymph, if fame or honour were 

To be attain'd with ease, 
Then would I come and rest with thee, 

And leave such toiles as these : 
But here it dwels, and here must I 

With danger seek it forth ; 
To spend the time luxuriously 

Becomes not men of worth. 



Syren. 

Ulysses, be not deceiv'd 

With that unreall name : 
This honour is a thing conceiv'd, 

And rests on others' fame. 
Begotten only to molest 

Our peace, and to beguile 
(The best thing of our life) our rest, 

And give us up to toyle ! 

Ulysses. 



10 



15 



20 



25 



Delicious nymph, suppose there were 

Nor honor, nor report, 
Yet manlinesse would scorne to weare 

The time in idle sport : 
For toyle doth give a better touch 

To make us feele our joy ; 30 



160 



CUPID'S PASTIME. 



And ease findes tediousnes, as much 
As labour yeelds annoy. 

Syren. 

Then pleasure likewise seemes the shore, 

Whereto tendes all your toyle ; 
Which you forego to make it more, 35 

And perish oft the while. 
Who may disport them diversly, 

Find never tedious day ; 
And ease may have variety, 

As well as action may. 40 

Ulysses. 

But natures of the noblest frame 

These toyles and dangers please ; 
And they take comfort in the same, 

As much as you in ease : 
And with the thought of actions past 45 

Are recreated still : 
When pleasure leaves a touch at last 

To show that it was ill. 

Syren. 

That doth opinion only cause, 
That's out of custom bred ; 50 



Which makes us many other laws 

Than ever nature did. 
No widdowes waile for our delights, 

Our sports are without blood ; 
The world we see by warlike wights 55 

Receives more hurt than good. 

Ulysses. 

But yet the state of things require 

These motions of unrest, 
And these great spirits of high desire 

Seem borne to turne them best : 60 

To purge the mischiefes, that increase 

And all good order mar : 
For oft we see a wicked peace 

To be well chang'd for war. 



Well, well, Ulysses, then I see 65 

I shall not have thee here ; 
And therefore I will come to thee, 

And take my fortune there. 
I must be wonne that cannot win, 

Yet lost were I not wonne : 70 

For beauty hath created bin 

T' undoo or be undone. 



X. 



€nf\Y$ fasiinu. 



This beautiful poem, which possesses a 
classical elegance hardly to be expected in 
the age of James I., is printed from the 4th 
edition of Davison's Poems, &c, 1621. It is 
also found in a later miscellany, entitled, 
" Le Prince d' Amour," 1660, 8vo. Francis 
Davison, editor of the poems above referred 
to, was son of that unfortunate secretary of 
state, who suffered so much from the affair 
of Mary Queen of Scots. These poems, he 
tells us in his preface, were written by 
himself, by his brother [Walter], who was a 
soldier in the wars of the Low Countries, and 
by some dear friends " anonymoi." Among 
them are found some pieces by Sir J. Davis, 
the Countess of Pembroke, Sir Philip Sidney, 
Spenser, and other wits of those times. 



In the fourth vol. of Dryden's Miscellanies, 
this poem is attributed to Sydney Godolphin, 
Esq. ; but erroneously, being probably writ- 
ten before he was born. Oneedit. of Davison's 
book was published in 1608. Godolphin was 
born in 1610, and died in 1642-3. Ath. Ox. 
II. 23. 

It chanc'd of late a shepherd swain, 
That went to seek his straying sheep, 

Within a thicket on a plain 
Espied a dainty nymph asleep. 

Her golden hair o'erspread her face ; 5 

Her careless arms abroad were cast ; 

Iler quiver had her pillows place ; 
Her breast lay bare to every blast. 



THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE. 



161 



The shepherd stood and gaz'd his fill ; 

Nought durst he do ; nought durst he say; 
Whilst chance, or else perhaps his will, 11 

Did guide the god of love that way. 

The crafty boy that sees her sleep,' 
Whom if she wak'd he durst not see ; 

Behind her closely seeks to creep ; 15 

Before her nap should ended bee. 

There come, he steals her shafts away, 
And puts his own into their place ; 

Nor dares he any longer stay, 
But, ere she wakes, hies thence apace. 20 

Scarce was he gone, but she awakes, 
And spies the shepherd standing by : 

Her bended bow in haste she takes, 
And at the simple swain lets flye. 

Forth flew the shaft, and pierc'd his heart, 
That to the ground he fell with pain : 26 

Yet up again forthwith he start, 
And to the nymph he ran amain. 

Amazed to see so strange a sight, 

She shot, and shot, but all in vain ; 30 
The more his wounds, the more his might, 

Love yielded strength amidst his pain. 



Her angry eyes were great with tears, 
She blames her hand, she blames her skill; 

The bluntness of her shafts she fears, 35 
And try them on herself she will. 

Take heed, sweet nymph, trye not thy shaft, 
Each little touch will pierce thy heart ; 

Alas ! thou know'st not Cupids craft ; 

Revenge is joy ; the end is smart. 40 

Yet try she will, and pierce some bare ; 

Her hands were glov'd but next to hand 
Was that fair breast, that breast so rare, 

That made the shepherd senseless stand. 

That breast she pierc'd; and through that 
breast 45 

Love found an entry to her heart : 
At feeling of this new-come guest, 

Lord ! how this gentle nymph did start ! 

She runs not now ; she shoots no more ; 

Away she throws both shaft and bow : 50 
She seeks for what she shunn'd before, 

She thinks the shepherds haste too slow. 



Though mountains meet not, lovers may : 
What other lovers do, did they : 
The god of love sate on a tree, 
And laught that pleasant sight to see. 



55 



XI. 



Wsj €\mtkx of a f apg fife. 



This little moral poem was writ by Sir 
Henry Wotton, who died Provost of Eton 
in 1639, JEt. 72. It is printed from a little 
collection of his pieces, entitled, " Reliquiae 
Wottonianse," 1651, 12mo. ; compared with 
one or two other copies. 

How happy is he born or taught, 

That serveth not anothers will ; 
Whose armour is his honest thought, 

And simple truth his highest skill : 

Whose passions not his masters are, 5 

Whose soul is still prepar'd for death ; 



Not ty'd unto the world with care 
Of princes ear, or vulgar breath. 

Who hath his life from rumours freed ; 

Whose conscience is his strong retreat ; 10 
Whose state can neither flatterers feed, 

Nor ruine make oppressors great : 

Who envies none, whom chance doth raise, 
Or vice : Who never understood 

How deepest wounds are given with 
praise ; 
Nor rules of state, but rules of good : 16 



162 



GILDEROY. 



Who God doth late and early pray 
More of his grace than gifts to lend ; 

And entertains the harmless day 
With a well-chosen book or friend. 



20 



This man is freed from servile bands 
Of hope to rise, or feare to fall ; 

Lord of himselfe, though not of lands 
And having nothing, yet hath all. 



XII. 



6iIbU0S. 



— was a famous robber, who lived about 
the middle of the last century, if we may 
credit the histories and story-books of high- 
waymen, which relate many improbable feats 
of him, as his robbing Cardinal Richelieu, 
Oliver Cromwell, &c. But these stories have 
probably no other authority, than the records 
of Grub-street: At least the "Gilderoy," who 
is the hero of Scottish Songsters, seems to 
have lived in an earlier age ; for, in Thom- 
son's Orpheus Caledonius, vol. ii. 1733, 8vo., 
is a copy of this ballad, which, though cor- 
rupt and interpolated, contains some lines 
that appear to be of genuine antiquity : in 
these he is represented as contemporary with 
Mary Queen of Scots : ex. gr. 

" The Queen of Scots possessed nought, 

That my love let me want : 
Forcow and ew to me he brought, 

And ein whan they were scant." 

These lines perhaps might safely have been 
inserted among the following stanzas, which 
are given from a written copy, that appears 
to have received some modern corrections. 
Indeed the common popular ballad contained 
come indecent luxuriances that required the 
pruning-hook. 

Gilderoy was a bonnie boy, 

Had roses tull his shoone, 
His stockings were of silken soy, 

Wi' garters hanging doune : 
It was, I weene, a comelie sight, 5 

To see sae trim a boy ; 
He was my jo and hearts delight, 

My handsome Gilderoy. 



Oh ! sike twa charming een he had, 
A breath as sweet as rose, 



10 



He never ware a Highland plaid, 

But costly silken clothes ; 
He gained the luve of ladies gay, 

Nane eir tull him was coy : 
Ah ! wae is mee ! I mourn the day 15 

For my dear Gilderoy. 

My Gilderoy and I were born, 

Baith in one toun together, 
We scant were seven years beforn, 

We gan to luve each other : 20 

Our dadies and our mammies thay, 

Were fill'd wi' mickle joy, 
To think upon the bridal day, 

Twixt me and Gilderoy. 

For Gilderoy that luve of mine, 25 

Gude faith, I freely bought 
A wedding sark of holland fine, 

Wi' silken flowers wrought : 
And he gied me a wedding ring, 

Which I receiv'd wi' joy, 30 

Nae lad nor lassie eir could sing, 

Like me and Gilderoy. 

Wi' mickle joy we spent our prime, 

Till we were baith sixteen, 
And aft we past the langsome time, 35 

Among the leaves sae green ; 
Aft on the banks we'd sit us thair, 

And sweetly kiss and toy, 
Wi' garlands gay wad deck my hair 

My handsome Gilderoy. 40 

Oh ! that he still had been content, 

Wi' me to lead his life ; 
But, ah ! his manfu' heart was bent, 

To stir in feates of strife : 
And he in many a venturous deed, 45 

His courage bauld wad try ; 



WINIFREDA. 



163 



And now this gars mine heart to bleed, 
For my dear Gilderoy. 

And when of me his leave he tuik, 

The tears they wat'mine ee, 50 

I gave tull him a parting luik, 

" My benison gang wi' thee ; 
God speed thee weil, mine ain dear heart 

For gane is all my joy ; 
My heart is rent sith we maun part, 55 

My handsome Gilderoy." 

My Gilderoy baith far and near, 

Was fear'd in every toun, 
And bauldly bare away the gear, 

Of many a lawland loun : 60 

Nane eir durst meet him man to man, 

He was sae brave a boy ; 
At length wi' numbers he was tane, 

My winsome Gilderoy. 

Wae worth the loun that made the laws, 
To hang a man for gear, 66 

To 'reave of live for ox or ass, 
For sheep, or horse, or mare: 

Had not their laws been made sae strick, 
I neir had lost my joy, 70 



Wi' sorrow neir had wat my cheek, 
For my dear Gilderoy. 

Giff Gilderoy had done amisse, 

He mought hae banisht been ; 
Ah ! what sair cruelty is this, 75 

To hang sike handsome men : 
To hang the flower o' Scottish land, 

Sae sweet and fair a boy ; 
Nae lady had sae white a hand, 

As thee my Gilderoy. 80 

Of Gilderoy sae fraid they were, 

They bound him mickle strong, 
Tull Edenburrow they led him thair, 

And on a gallows hung : 
They hung him high aboon the rest, 85 

He was sae trim a boy ; 
Thair dyed the youth whom I lued best 

My handsome Gilderoy. 

Thus having yielded up his breath, 

I bare his corpse away, 90 

Wi' tears, that trickled for his death, 

I washt his comelye clay ; 
And sicker in a grave sae deep, 

I laid the dear-lued boy, 
And now for evir maun I weep, 95 

My winsome Gilderoy. 



XIII. 



;htttnfta:. 



This beautiful address to conjugal love, a 
subject too much neglected by the libertine 
muses, was, I believe, first printed in a vol- 
ume of " Miscellaneous Poems, by several 
hands, published by D. [David] Lewis, 1726, 
8vo." 

It is there said, how truly I know not, to 
be a translation " from the ancient British 
language." 

Away ; let nought to love displeasing 
My Winifreda, move your care ; 

Let nought delay the heavenly blessing, 
Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear. 

What tho' no grants of royal donors 5 

With pompous titles grace our blood : 



We'll shine in more substantial honors, 
And to be noble we'll be good. 

Our name, while virtue thus we tender, 9 
Will sweetly sound where-e'er 'tis spoke 

And all the great ones, they shall wonder 
How they respect such little folk. 

What though from fortune's lavish bounty 
No mighty treasures we possess ; 

We'll find within our pittance plenty, 15 
And be content without excess. 

Still shall each returning season 

Sufficient for our wishes give ; 
For we will live a life of reason, 

And that's the only life to live. 20 



164 



THE WITCH OF WOKEY. 



Through youth and age in love excelling, 
We'll hand in hand together tread ; 

Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling, 
And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed. 

How should I love the pretty creatures, 25 
While round my knees they fondly clung ; 



To see them look their mothers features, 
To hear them lisp their mothers tongue. 

And when with envy time transported, 
Shall think to rob us of our joys, 30 

You'll in your girls again be courted, 
And I'll go a wooing in my boys. 



XIV. 



%\t m\\t\ 0f WaUi 



— was published in a small collection of 
poems, entitled, " Euthemia, or the Power of 
Harmony ; &c." 1756, written, in 1748, by 
the ingenious Dr. Harrington, of Bath, who 
never allowed them to be published, and with- 
held his name till it could no longer be con- 
cealed. The following copy was furnished by 
the late Mr. Shenstone, with some variations 
and corrections of his own, which he had 
taken the liberty to propose, and for which 
the Author's indulgence was intreated. In 
this edition it was intended to reprint the 
Author's own original copy ; but, as that 
may be seen correctly given in Pearch's Col- 
lection, vol., i., 1783, p. 161, it was thought 
the reader of taste would wish to have the 
variations preserved ; they are therefore still 
retained here, which it is hoped the worthy 
author will excuse with his wonted liberality. 

Wokey-hole is a noted cavern in Somerset- 
shire, which has given birth to as many wild 
fanciful stories as the Sybils Cave in Italy. 
Through a very narrow entrance, it opens in- 
to a very large vault, the roof whereof, either 
on account of its height, or the thickness of 
the gloom, cannot be discovered by the light 
of torches. It goes winding a great way 
under ground, is crossed by a stream of very 
cold water, and is all horrid with broken 
pieces of rock: many of these are evident 
petrifications: which, on account of their 
singular forms, have given rise to the fables 
alluded to in this poem. 

Lv aunciente days tradition showes 
A base and wicked elfe arose, 
The Witch of Wokey bight: 



Oft have I heard the fearfull tale 

From Sue, and Koger of the vale, 

On some long winter's night. 

Deep in the dreary dismall cell, 
Which seem'd and was ycleped hell, 

This blear-eyed hag did hide : 
Nine wicked elves, as legends sayne, 
She chose to form her guardian trayne 

And kennel near her side. 



10 



Here screeching owls oft made their nest, 
While wolves its craggy sides possest, 

Night-howling thro' the rock : 15 

No wholesome herb could here be found ; 
She blasted every plant around. 

And blister'd every flock. 

Her haggard face was foull to see ; 

Her mouth unmeet a mouth to bee ; 20 

Her eyne of deadly leer, 
She nought devis'd, but neighbour's ill ; 
She wreak'd on all her wayward will, 

And marr'd all goodly chear. 

All in her prime have poets sung, 25 

No gaudy youth, gallant and young, 

E'er blest her longing armes ; 
And hence arose her spight to vex, 
And blast the youth of either sex, 

By dint of hellish charms. 30 

From Glaston came a lerned wight, 
Full bent to marr her fell despight, 

And well he did I ween : 
Sich mischief never had been known, 
And, since his mickle lerninge shown, 35 

Sich mischief ne'er has been. 



BRYAN AND PEREENE. 



165 



He chauntede out his godlie booke, 
He crost the water, blest the brooke, 

Then — pater noster done, — 
The ghastly hag he sprinkled o'er : 40 

When lo ! where stood a hag before, 

Now stood a ghastly stone. 

Full well 'tis known adown the dale : 
Tho' passing strange indeed the tale, 

And doubtfull may appear, 45 

I'm bold to say, there's never a one, 
That has not seen the witch in stone, 

With all her household gear. 

But tho' this lernede clerke did well ; 

With grieved heart, alas ! I tell, 50 

She left this curse behind : 
That Wokey-nymphs forsaken quite, 
Tho' sense and beauty both unite, 

Should find no leman kind. 



For lo ! even, as the fiend did say, 55 

The sex have found it to this day, 

That men are wondrous scant : 
Here's beauty, wit, and sense combin'd, 
With all that's good and virtuous join'd, 

Yet hardly one gallant. 60 



Shall then sich maids unpitied moane ? 
They might as well, like her, be stone, 

As thus forsaken dwell. 
Since Glaston now can boast no clerks ; 
Come down from Oxenford, ye sparks, 

And, oh ! revoke the spell. 



Yet stay — nor thus despond, ye fair : 
Virtue's the god's' peculiar care ; 

I hear the gracious voice : 
Your sex shall soon be blest agen, 
We only wait to find sich men, 

As best deserve your choice. 



65 



70 



XV. 



§rpn anfo |*rntu, 



A WEST-INDIAN BALLAD, 



— is founded on a real fact, that happened 
in the island of St. Christophers about the 
beginning of the present reign. The Editor 
owes the following stanzas to the friendship 
of Dr. James Grainger,* who was an eminent 
physician in that island when this tragical 
incident happened, and died there much hon- 
oured and lamented in 1767. To this ingeni- 
ous gentleman the public are indebted for 
the fine Ode on Solitude, printed in the 4th 
vol. of Dodsley's Miscellany, p. 229, in which 
are assembled some of the sublimest images 
in nature. The reader will pardon the inser- 
tion of the first stanza here, for the sake of 
rectifying the two last lines, which were thus 
given by the author : 

Solitude, romantic maid, 
Whether by nodding towers you tread, 
Or haunt the desert's trackless gloom, 
Or hover o'er the yawning tomb, 
Or climb the Andes' clifted side, 
Or by the Nile's coy source abide, 



* Author of a poem on the " Culture of the Sugar-Cane," 
&o., published by Messrs. Wood and Dawkins. 



Or starting from your half year's sleep 
From Hecla view the thawing deep, 
Or at the purple dawn of day 
Tadmor's marble wastes survey, &c. 

alluding to the account of Palmyra published 
by some late ingenious travellers, and the 
manner in which they were struck at the 
first sight of those magnificent ruins by break 
of day.* 

The north-east wind did briskly blow, 

The ship was safely moor'd ; 
Young Bryan thought the boat's-crew slow, 

And so leapt over-board. 

Pereene, the pride of Indian dames, 5 

His heart long held in thrall ; 
And whoso his impatience blames, 

I wot, ne'er lov'd at all. 

A long long year, one month and day, 
He dwelt on English land, 10 

Nor once in thought or deed would stray, 
Tho' ladies sought his hand. 

* So in page 235, it should be, Turn'd her magic ray. 



166 



GENTLE RIVER, GENTLE RIVER. 



For Bryan he was tall and strong, 

Right blythsoine roll'd his een, 
Sweet was his voice whene'er he sung, 15 

He scant had twenty seen. 

But who the countless charms can draw, 

That grac'd his mistress true ; 
Such charms the old world seldom saw, 

Nor oft I ween the new. 20 

Her raven hair plays round her neck, 

Like tendrils of the vine ; 
Her cheeks red dewy rosebuds deck, 

Her eyes like diamonds shine. 

Soon as his well-known ship she spied, 25 

She cast her weeds away, 
And to the palmy shore she hied, 

All in her best array. 

In sea-green silk so neatly clad 

She there impatient stood ; 30 

The crew with wonder saw the lad 

Repell the foaming flood. 

Her hands a handkerchief display'd, 
Which he at parting gave ; 



Well pleas'd the token he survey'd, 35 

And manlier beat the wave. 

Her fair companions one and all, 

Rejoicing crowd the strand ; 
For now her lover swam in call, 

And almost touch'd the land. 40 

Then through the white surf did she haste, 

To clasp her lovely swain ; 
When, ah ! a shark bit through his waste : 

His heart's blood dy'd the main ! 

He shriek'd ! his half sprang from the wave, 
Streaming with purple gore, 46 

And soon it found a living grave, 
And ah ! was seen no more. 

Now haste, now haste, ye maids, I pray, 
Fetch water from the spring : 50 

She falls, she swoons, she dies away, 
And soon her knell they ring. 

Now each May morning round her tomb, 

Ye fair, fresh flowerets strew, 
So may your lovers scape his doom, 55 

Her hapless fate scape you. 



XVI. 

<$*ntU giiur, toik $ifar. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH. 



Although the English are remarkable for 
the number and variety of their ancient bal- 
lads, and retain, perhaps, a greater fondness 
for these old simple rhapsodies of their an- 
'cestors than most other nations, they are not 
the only people who have distinguished them- 
selves by compositions of this kind. The 
Spaniards have great multitudes of them, 
many of which are of the highest merit. 
They call them in their language Romances, 
and have collected them into volumes under 
the titles of El Romancero, El Cancionero* 
&c. Most of them relate to their conflicts 
with the Moors, and display a spirit of gal- 



i. e. The ballad-singer. 



lantry peculiar to that romantic people. But 
of all the Spanish ballads, none exceed in 
poetical merit those inserted in a little Span- 
ish " History of the Civil Wars of Granada," 
describing the dissensions which raged in 
that last seat of Moorish empire before it was 
conquered in the reign of Ferdinand and Isa- 
bella, in 1491. In this history (or perhaps ro- 
mance) a great number of heroic songs are 
inserted, and appealed to as authentic vouch- 
ers for the truth of facts. In reality, the 
prose narrative seems to be drawn up for no 
other end, but to introduce and illustrate 
those beautiful pieces. 

The Spanish editor pretends — how truly I 
know not — that they are translations from the 



GENTLE RIVER, GENTLE RIVER. 



167 



Arabic or Morisco language. Indeed, from 
the plain unadorned nature of the verse, and 
the native simplicity of the language and 
sentiment, which runs through these poems, 
one would judge them to have been composed 
soon after the conquest of Granada above 
mentioned ; as the prose narrative in which 
they are inserted was published about a cen- 
tury after. It should seem, at least, that they 
were written before the Castilians had formed 
themselves so generally, as they have done 
since, on the model of the Tuscan poets, or 
had imported from Italy that fondness for 
conceit and refinement, which has, for near 
two centuries past, so much infected the 
Spanish poetry, and rendered it so frequently 
affected and obscure. 

As a specimen of the ancient Spanish man- 
ner, which very much resembles that of our 
old English bards and minstrels, the reader 
is desired candidly to accept the two follow- 
ing poems. They are given from a small 
collection of pieces of this kind, which the 
Editor some years ago translated for his 
amusement, when he was studying the Span- 
ish language. As the first is a pretty close 
translation, to gratify the curious it is ac- 
companied with the original. The metre is 
the same in all these old Spanish ballads : it 
is of the most simple construction, and is 
still used by the common people in their ex- 
temporaneous songs, as we learn from Baret- 



ti's Travels. It runs in short stanzas of four 
lines, of which the second and fourth alone 
correspond in their terminations ; and in 
these it is only required that the vowels 
should be alike ; the consonants may be alto- 
gether different, as 

pone casa meten arcos 
noble cartas muere gamo 
Yet has this kind of verse a sort of simple 
harmonious flow, which atones for the im- 
perfect nature of the rhyme, and renders it 
not unpleasing to the ear. The same flow 
of numbers has been studied in the follow- 
ing versions. The first of them is given 
from two different originals, both of which 
are printed in the Hist, de las Civiles G^ierras 
de Granada. Mad. 1694. One of them hath 
the rhymes ending in aa, the other in ia. It 
is the former of these that is here reprinted. 
They both of them begin with the same line ; 

Rio verde, rio verde,* 
which could not be translated faithfully : 

Verdant river, verdant river, 
would have given an affected stiffness to the 
verse ; the great merit of which is easy sim- 
plicity ; and therefore a more simple epithet 
was adopted, though less poetical or expres- 
sive. 

* Literally, Green river, green river. Rio Verde is Baid 
to be the name of a river in Spain : which ought to have 
been attended to by the translator had he known it. 



" Rio verde, rio verde, 

Quanto cuerpo en ti se bana 
De Christianos y de Moros 

Muertos por la dura espada ! 

" Y tus ondas cristalinas 
De roxa sangre se esmaltan : 

Entre moros y Christianos 
Muy gran batalla se trava. 

" Murieron Duques y Condes, 
Grandes senores de salva : 

Murio gente de valia 

De la nobleza de Espana. 

" En ti murio don Alonso, 
Que de Aguilar se llamaba ; 

El valeroso Urdiales, 

Con don Alonso acababa. 



10 



15 



Gentle river, gentle river, 

Lo, thy streams are stain'd with gore, 
Many a brave and noble captain 

Floats along thy willow'd shore. 

All beside thy limpid waters, 5 

All beside thy sands so bright, 

Moorish Chiefs and Christian warriors 
Join'd in fierce and mortal fight. 

Lords, and dukes, and noble princes 
On thy fatal banks were slain : 10 

Fatal banks that gave to slaughter 
All the pride and flower of Spain. 

There the hero, brave Alonzo 
Full of wounds and glory died : 

There the fearless Urdiales 15 

Fell a victim by his side. 



22 



168 GFNTLE RIVER, 


GENTLE RIVER. 




" Por un ladera arriba 

El buen Sayavedra marcha; 
Naturel es de Sevilla, 

De la gcntc mas granada. 20 


Lo ! where yonder Don Saavedra 
Thro' their squadrons slow retires 

Proud Seville, his native city, 
Proud Seville his worth admires. 


20 


" Tras el iba un Renegado, 
Desta manera le habla ; 

Date, date, Sayavedra, 
No huyas de la batalla. 


Close behind a renegado 

Loudly shouts with taunting cry ; 
Yield thee, yield thee, Don Saavedra, 

Dost thou from the battle fly ? 




" Yo te conozco muy bien, 25 
Gran tiempo estuve en tu casa ; 

Y en la Placa de Sevilla 
Bien te vide jugar canas. 


Well I know thee, haughty Christian, 
Long I liv'd beneath thy roof; 

Oft I've in the lists of glory 

Seen thee win the prize of proof. 


25 


" Conozco a tu padre y madre, 

Y a tu muger dona Clara ; 30 
Siete anos fui tu cautivo, 

Malamente me tratabas. 


"Well I know thy aged parents, 
Well thy blooming bride I know ; 

Seven years I was thy captive, 
Seven years of pain and woe. 


30 


" Y aora lo seras mio, 

Si Maboma me ayudara ; 
Y tambien te tratare, 35 

Como a mi me tratabas. 


May our prophet grant my wishes, 
Haughty chief, thou shalt be mine ; 

Thou shalt drink that cup of sorrow, 
Which I drank when I was thine. 


35 


" Sayavedra que lo oyera, 

Al Moro bolvio la cara ; 
Tirole el Moro una flecba, 

Pero nunca le acertaba. 40 


Like a lion turns the warrior, 
Back he sends an angry glare : 

Whizzing came the Moorish javelin, 
Vainly whizzing thro' the air. 


40 


" Hiriole Sayavedra 

De una herida muy mala: 
Muerto cayo el Renegado 

Sin poder hablar palabra. 


Back the hero full of fury 

Sent a deep and mortal wound : 

Instant sunk the Renegado, 

Mute and lifeless on the ground. 




" Sayavedra fue cercado 45 

De mucha Mora canalla, 
Y al cabo cayo alii muerto 

De una muy mala lancada. 


With a thousand Moors surrounded, 
Brave Saavedra stands at bay : 

Wearied out but never daunted, 
Cold at length the warrior lay. 


45 


" Don Alonso en este tiempo 

Bravamente peleava, 50 
Y el cavallo le avian muerto, 

Y le tiene por muralla." 


Near him fighting great Alonzo 
Stout resists the Paynim bands ; v 

From his slaughter'd steed dismounted 
Firm intrench'd behind him stands. 


50 


'• Mas cargaron tantos Moros 

Que mal le hieren y tratan : 
De la sangre, que perdia, 55 

Don Alonso se desmaya. 


Furious press the hostile squadron, 
Furious he repels their rage : 

Loss of blood at length enfeebles : 
Who can war with thousands wage ! 


55 


" Al fin, al fin cayo muerto 

Al pie de un peua alta, 

■ Muerto queda don Alonso, 

Eterna fama ganara.'' 60 
****** 


Where yon rock the plain o'ershadows, 
Close beneath its foot retir'd, 

Fainting sunk the bleeding hero, 
And without a groan expir'd. 
****** 


60 



ALCANZOR AND ZAIDA. 



169 



*** In the Spanish original of the foregoing 
hallad, follow a few more stanzas, but being 
of inferior merit were not translated. 

" Renegado" properly signifies an Apos- 
tate ; but it is sometimes used to express an 
Infidel in general ; as it seems to do above in 
ver. 21, &c. 



The image of the " Lion" &c, in ver. 37, 
is taken from the other Spanish copy, the 
rhymes of which end in " ia" viz. 

" Sayavedra, que lo oyera 
Como un leon rebolbia. 



XVII. 



A MOORISH TALE, 
IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH. 



The foregoing version was rendered as liter- 
al as the nature of the two languages would 
admit. In the following a wider compass 
hath been taken. The Spanish poem that 
was chiefly had in view, is preserved in the 
same history of the civil wars of Granada, 
f. 22, and begins with these lines : 

" Por la calle de su dama 
Passeando se anda, &c." 

Softly blow the evening breezes, 
Softly fall the dews of night ; 

Yonder walks the Moor Alcanzor, 
Shunning every glare of light. 

In yon palace lives fair Zaida, 5 

Whom he loves with flame so pure : 

Loveliest she of Moorish ladies ; 
He a young and noble Moor. 

Waiting for the appointed minute, 

Oft he paces to and fro ; 10 

Stopping now, now moving forwards, 
Sometimes quick, and sometimes slow. 

Hope and fear alternate seize him, 
Oft he sighs with heart-felt care. 

See, fond youth, to yonder window 15 

Softly steps the timorous fair. 

Lovely seems the moon's fair lustre 

To the lost benighted swain, 
When all silvery bright she rises, 

Gilding mountain, grove, and plain. 20 

Lovely seems the sun's full glory 
To the fainting seaman's eyes, 



When some horrid storm dispersing 
O'er the wave his radiance flies. 

But a thousand times more lovely 25 

To her longing lover's sight, 
Steals half seen the beauteous maiden 

Thro' the glimmerings of the night. 

Tip-toe stands the anxious lover, 

Whispering forth a gentle sigh : 30 

Alia* keep thee, lovely lady ; 
Tell me, am I doom'd to die ? 

Is it true the dreadful story, 

Which thy damsel tells my page, 

That seduc'd by sordid riches 35 

Thou wilt sell thy bloom to age ? 

An old lord from Antiquera 
Thy stern father brings along : 

But canst thou, inconstant Zaida, 

Thus consent my love to wrong ? 40 

If 'tis true now plainly tell me, 
Nor thus trifle with my woes ; 

Hide not then from me the secret, 
Which the world so clearly knows. 

Deeply sigh'd the conscious maiden, 45 
While the pearly tears descend : 

Ah ! my lord, too true the story ; 
Here our tender loves must end. 

Our fond friendship is discover'd, 
Well are known our mutual vows : 50 

All my friends are full of fury ; r 

Storms of passion shake the house. 



* Alia is the Mahometan name of God. 



170 



ALCANZOR AND ZAIDA. 



Threats, reproaches, fears surrouud me ; 

My stern father breaks my heart : 
Alia knows how dear it costs me, 55 

Generous youth, from thee to part. 

Ancient wounds of hostile fury 

Long have rent our house and thine ; 

Why then did thy shining merit 

Win this tender heart of mine ? 60 

Well thou know'st how dear I lov'd thee 
Spite of all their hateful pride, 

Tho' I fear'd my haughty father 
Ne'er would let me be thy bride. 

Well thou know'st what cruel chidings 65 
Oft I've from my mother borne ; 

What I've suffer'd here to meet thee 
Still at eve and early morn. 

I no longer may resist them : 

All, to force my hand combine ; 70 

And to-morrow to thy rival 

This weak frame I must resign. 

Yet think not thy faithful Zaida 
Can survive so great a wrong ; 

Well my breaking heart assures me 75 
That my woes will not be long. 

Farewell then, my dear Alcanzor ! 
Farewell too my life with thee ! 



80 



85 



Take this scarf a parting token ; 
When thou wear'st it think on me. 

Soon, lov'd youth, some worthier maiden 
Shall reward thy generous truth : 

Sometimes tell her how thy Zaida 
Died for thee in prime of youth. 

— To him all amaz'd, confounded, 
Thus she did her woes impart : 

Deep he sigh'd, then cry'd, — Zaida! 
Do not, do not break my heart. 



Canst thou think I thus will lose thee? 

Canst thou hold my love so small ? 90 

No ! a thousand times I'll perish ! 

My curst rival too shall fall. 

Canst thou, wilt thou yield thus to them ? 

O break forth, and fly to me ! 
This fond heart shall bleed to save thee, 95 

These fond arms shall shelter thee. 



'Tis in vain, in vain, Alcanzor, 
Spies survound me, bars secure : 

Scarce I steal this last dear moment, 
While my damsel keeps the door. 



100 



Hark, I hear my father storming ! 

Hark, I hear my mother chide ! 
I must go : farewell for ever ! 

Gracious Alia be thy guide ! 



THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK. 



RICHARD OF ALMAIGNE. 



171 



SERIES THE SECOND. 
BOOK I. 



Though some make slight of Libels, yet you may see by them how the wind sits : As, 
take a straw and throw it up into the air, you may see by that which way the wind is, which 
you shall not do by casting up a stone. More solid things do not show the complexion of 
the times so well as Ballads and Libels. Selden's Table-talk. 



guftarfo ai JUmaip*. 



" A ballad made by one of the adherents 
to Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, soon 
after the battle of Lewes, which was fought 
May 14, 1264," 

— affords a curious specimen of ancient 
satire, and shows that the liberty, assumed 
by the good people of this realm, of abusing 
their kings and princes at pleasure, is a pri- 
vilege of very long standing. 

To render this antique libel intelligible, 
the reader is to understand that just before 
the battle of Lewes, which proved so fatal to 
the interests of Henry III., the barons had 
offered his brother Richard King of the Ro- 
mans 30,0007. to procure a peace upon such 
terms as would have divested Henry of all his 
regal power, and therefore the treaty proved 
abortive. The consequences of that battle 
are well known : the king, prince Edward his 
son, his brother Richard, and many of his 
friends, fell into the hands of their enemies ; 
while two great barons of the king's party, 
John Earl of Warren, and Hugh Bigot the 
king's Justiciary, had been glad to escape 
into France. 

In the 1st stanza the aforesaid sum of 
thirty thousand pounds is alluded to ; but, 
with the usual misrepresentation of party 
malevolence, is asserted to have been the ex- 
orbitant demand of the king's brother. 

With regard to the 2d stanza the reader is 
to note that Richard, along with the earldom 
of Cornwall, had the honours of Wallingford 
and Eyre confirmed to him on his marriage 
with Sanchia, daughter of the Count of Pro- 
vence, in 1243 — Windsor Castle was the chief 
fortress belonging to the king, and had been 
garrisoned by foreigners : a circumstance 



which furnishes out the burthen of each 
stanza. 

The 3d stanza alludes to a remarkable cir- 
cumstance which happened on the day of the 
battle of Lewes. After the battle was lost, 
Richard King of the Romans took refuge in 
a windmill, which he barricadoed, and main- 
tained for some time against the barons, but 
in the evening was obliged to surrender. See 
a very full account of this in the Chronicle 
of Mailros ; Oxon. 1684, p. 229. 

The 4th stanza is of obvious interpretation: 
Richard, who had been elected King of the 
Romans in 1256, and had afterwards gone 
over to take possession of his dignity, was in 
the year 1259 about to return into England, 
when the barons raised a popular clamour 
that he was bringing with him foreigners to 
overrun the kingdom : upon which he was 
forced to dismiss almost all his followers, 
otherwise the barons would have opposed his 
landing. 

In the 5th stanza the writer regrets the 
escape of the Earl of Warren ; and in the 6th 
and 7th stanzas insinuates, that, if he and Sir 
Hugh Bigot once fell into the hands of their 
adversaries they should never more return 
home ; a circumstance which fixes the date 
of this ballad ; for in the year 1265, both 
these noblemen landed in South Wales, and 
the royal party soon after gained the ascend- 
ant. See Holinshed, Rapin, &c. 

The following is copied from a very ancient 
MS. in the British Museum. [Harl. MSS. 
2253, s. 23.] This MS. is judged, from the 
peculiarities of the writing, to be not later 
than the time of Richard II. ; th being every 
where expressed by the character p ; the y 



172 



ON THE DEATH OF KING EDWARD THE FIRST. 



is pointed after the Saxon manner, and the i 
hath an oblique stroke over it. 

Sitteth alle stille, ant herkneth to me ; 
The Kvng of Alemaigne, bi mi leaute, 
Tliritti thousent pound askede he 
For te make the pees in the countre, 

Ant so he dude more. 5 

Richard, thah thou be ever trichard, 

Tricthen shalt thou never more. 

Richard of Alemaigne, whil that he wes kying, 
He spende al is tresour opon swyvyng, 
Haveth he nout of Walingford oferlyng, 10 
Let him habbe, ase he brew, bale to dryng, 
Maugre Wyndesore. 
Richard, thah thou be ever, &c. 

The kyng of Alemaigne wende do ful wel 
He saisede the mulne for a castel, 15 

With hare sharpe swerdes he grounde the stel, 
He wende that the sayles were mangonel 
To helpe Wyndesore. 
Richard, thah thou be ever, &c. 

The kyng of Alemaigne gederede ys host, 20 
Makede him a castel of a mulne post, 
Wende with is prude, ant is muchele bost, 
Brohte from Alemayne mony sori gost 
To store Wyndesore. 
Richard, thah thou be ever, &c. 25 

By God, that is aboven ous, he dude muche 

synne, 
That lette passen over see the Erl of Warynne : 
He hath robbed Engelond, the mores, ant th 

fenne, 
The gold, ant the selver, and y-boren henne, 
For love of Wyndesore. 30 

Richard, thah thou be ever, &c. 



Ver. 2, kyn, MS. 



Sire Simond de Mountforthath suore bi ys chyn, 
Hevede he nou here the Erl of Waryn, 
Shuld he never more come to ys yn, 
Ne with shelde, ne with spere, ne with other 

gyn, 35 

To help of Wyndesore. 

Richard, thah thou be ever, &c. 

Sire Simond de Montfort hath suore bi ys cop 
Hevede he nou here Sire Hue de Bigot : 
Al he shulde grante here twelfmoneth scot 
Shulde he never more with his sot pot 41 
To helpe Wyndesore. 
Richard, thah thou be ever, &c. 

Be the luef, be the loht, sire Edward, 
Thou shalt ride sporeless o thy lyard 45 

Al the ryhte way to Dovere-ward, 
Shalt thou never more breke foreward ; 
Ant that reweth sore 
Edward, thou dudest as a shreward, 

Forsoke thyn emes lore 50 

Richard, &c. 

*** This ballad will rise in its importance 
with the reader, when he finds that it is even 
believed to have occasioned a law in our Sta- 
tute Book, viz. " Against slanderous reports 
or tales, to cause discord betwixt king and 
people." (Westm. Primer, c. 34, anno 3. 
Edw. I.) That it had this effect, is the opin- 
ion of an eminent writer : See " Observations 
upon the Statutes, &c." 4to., 2d edit. 1766, p. 
71. 

However, in the Harl. Collection may be 
found other satirical and defamatory rhymes 
of the same age, that might have their share 
in contributing to this first law against libels. 

Ver. 40, g'te here, MS., i. e. grant their. Vid. Gloss. V. 
44, This stanza was omitted in the former editions. 



II. 



$n t\t gtatft 0f fittg €fotoar& % first. 



We have here an early attempt at elegy. 
Edward I. died July 7, 1307, in the thirty- 
fifth year of his reign, and sixty-ninth of his 
age. This poem appears to have been com- 
posed soon after his death. According to the 
modes of thinking peculiar to those times, 



the writer dwells more upon his devotion 
than his skill in government ; and pays less 
attention to the martial and political abilities 
of this great monarch, in which he had no 
equal, than to some little weaknesses of su- 
perstition, which he had in common with all 



ON THE DEATH OF KING EDWARD THE FIRST. 



173 



his contemporaries. The king had in the 
decline of life vowed an expedition to the 
Holy Land ; but finding his end approach, he 
dedicated the sum of 32,000Z. to the mainten- 
ance of a large body of knights (one hundred 
and forty say historians, eighty says our 
poet), who were to carry his heart with them 
into Palestine. This dying command of the 
king was never performed. Our poet, with 
the honest prejudices of an Englishman, at- 
tributes this failure to the advice of the King 
of France, whose daughter Isabel, the young 
monarch who succeeded immediately married. 
But the truth is Edward and his destructive 
favourite Piers Gaveston spent the money 
upon their pleasures. — To do the greater hon- 
ous to the memory of his hero, our poet puts 
his eloge in the mouth of the Pope, with the 
same poetic license, as a more modern bard 
would have introduced Britannia, or the Ge- 
nius of Europe pouring forth his praises. 

This antique elegy is extracted from the 
same MS. volume as the preceding article ; 
is found with the same peculiarities of writing 
and orthography ; and, though written at near 
the distance of half a century, contains little 
or no variation of idiom : whereas the next 
following poem by Chaucer, which was pro- 
bably written not more than fifty or sixty 
years after this, exhibits almost a new lan- 
guage. This seems to countenance the opin- 
ion of some antiquaries, that this great poet 
made considerable innovations in his mother 
tongue, and introduced many terms and new 
modes of speech from other languages. 

Alle, that beoth of huerte trewe, 

A stounde herkneth to my song 
Of duel, that Deth hath diht us newe, 

That maketh me syke, ant sorewe among ; 
Of a knyht, that wes so strong, 5 

Of wham God hath don ys wille ; 
Me-thuncheth that deth hath don us wrong, 

That he so sone shall ligge stille. 

Al Englond ahte for te knowe 

Of wham that song is, that y synge ; 10 
Of Edward kyng, that lith so lowe, 

Zent al this world is nome con springe : 
Trewest mon of alle thinge, 

Ant in werre war ant wys, 
For him we ahte oure hounden wrynge, 15 

Of Christendome he ber the prys. 



Byfore that oure kyng was ded, 

He spek ase mon that wes in care, 
" Clerkes, knyhtes, barons, he sayde, 

Y charge ou by oure sware, 20 
That ye to Engelonde be trewe. 

Y deze, y ne may lyven na more ; 
Helpeth mi sone, ant crouneth him newe, 

For he is nest to buen y-core. 



Ich biqueth myn herte arhyt, 

That hit be write at my devys, 
Over the see that Hue* be diht, 

With fourscore knyhtes al of prys, 
In werre that buen war ant wys, 

Azein the hethene for te fyhte, 
To wynne the croiz that lowe lys, 

Myself ycholde zef that y myhte/ 



25 



30 



Kyng of Fraunce, thou hevedest ' sinne, 

That thou the counsail woldest fonde, 
To latte the wille of ' Edward kyng' 35 

To wende to the holy londe : 
That oure kyng hede take on honde 

All Engelond to zeme ant wysse, 
To wenden in to the holy londe 

To wynnen us heveriche blisse. 40 

The messager to the pope com, 

And seyde that our kynge was ded : 
Ys oune hond the lettre he nom, 

Ywis his herte was full gret : 
The Pope him self the lettre redde, 45 

Ant spec a word of gret honour. 
Alas ! he seid, is Edward ded ! 

Of Christendome he ber the flour." 

The Pope to is chaumbre wende, 

For dol ne mihte, he speke na more ; 50 
Ant after cardinals he sende, 

That muche couthen of Cristes lore, 
Bothe the lasse, ant eke the more, 

Bed hem bothe rede ant synge : 
Gret deol me myhte se thore, 55 

Mony mon is honde wrynge. 

The Pope of Peyters stod at is masse 

With ful gret solempnete, 
Ther me con the soule blesse : 

" Kyng Edward honoured thou be: 60 



* The name of the person who was to preside over thifl 
business. 

Ver. 33, sunne, MS. Ver. 35, Kyng Edward, MS. Ver. 
43, ys is probably a contraction of in hys or yn his. Ver. 
55, 59, Me, i. e. Men ; so in Robert of Gloucester passim. 



174 



AN ORIGINAL BALLAD BY CHAUCER. 



God love thi sone come after the, 

Bringe to ende that thou hast bygonne, 

The holy crois y-mad of tre, 

So fain thou wouldest hit hav y-wonne. 

Jerusalem, thou hast i-lore 65 

The flour of al chivalrie 
Now kyng Edward liveth na more : 

Alas ! that he zet shulde deye ! 
He wolde ha rered up full heyze 

Oure banners, that brueth broht to grounde ; 
Wei ! longe we mowe clepe and crie 70 

Er we a such kyng han y-founde." 

Nou is Edward of Carnarvan 

King of Engelond al aplyht, 
God lete him ner be worse man 

Then his fader, ne lasse of myht, 75 

To holden is pore men to ryht, 

And understonde good counsail, 



Al Engelond for to wysse ant dyht ; 
Of gode knyhtes darh him nout fail. 

Thah mi tonge were mad of stel, 80 

Ant min herte yzote of bras, 
The godness myht y never telle, 

That with kyng Edward was : 
Kyng, as thou art cleped conquerour, 

In uch bataille thou hadest prys ; 85 

God bringe thi soule to the honour, 

That ever wes, ant ever ys. 

*V* Here follow in the original three lines 
more, which, as seemingly redundant, we 
choose to throw to the bottom of the page, viz. 

That lasteth ay withouten ende, 
Bidde we God ant oure Ledy to thilke 
blisse 
Jesus us sende. Amen. 



III. 



Jin Dripal §aM fog €\mtt. 



This little sonnet, which hath escaped all 
the editors of Chaucer's works, is now printed 
for the first time from an ancient MS. in the 
Pepysian library, that contains many other 
poems of its venerable author. The versifi- 
cation is of that species, which the French 
call Rondeau, very naturally Englished by 
our honest countrymen Round 0. Though 
so early adopted by them, our ancestors had 
not the honour of inventing it: Chaucer 
picked it up, along with other better things, 
among the neighbouring nations. A fond- 
ness for laborious trifles hath always prevailed 
in the dark ages of literature. The Greek 
poets have had their wings and axes : the 
great father of English poesy may therefore 
be pardoned one poor solitary rondeau. — 
Geofrey Chaucer died Oct. 25, 1400, aged 72. 

1.1. 

Youhe two eyn will sle me sodenly, 
I may the beaute of them not sustene, 
So wendeth it thorowout my herte kene. 



And but your words will helen hastely 
My hertis wound, while that it is grene, 
Youre two eyn will sle me sodenly. 



3. 



Upon my trouth I sey yow feithfully, 
That ye ben of my liffe and deth the quene, 
For with my deth the trouth shal be sene. 
Youre two eyn, &c. 

II. 1. 

So hath youre beauty fro your herte chased 
Pitee, that me n' availeth not to pleyn ; 
For daunger halt your mercy in his cheyne. 



Giltless my deth thus have ye purchased ; 
I sey yow soth, me nedeth not to fayn : 
So hath your beaute fro your herte chased. 



Alas, that nature hath in yow compassed 
So grete beaute, that no man may atteyn 
To mercy, though he sterve for the peyn. 
So hath youre beaute, &c. 

III. 1. 

Syn I fro love escaped am so fat 

I nere thinke to ben in his prison lene; 

Syn I am fre, I counte him not a bene. 



THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM. 



175 



He may answere, and sey this and that, 
I do no fors, I speak ryght as I mene ; 
Syn I fro love escaped am so fat. 



Love hath my name i-strike out of his sclat, 
And he is strike out of my bokes clene : 
For ever mo ' ther'* is non other mene. 
Syn I fro love escaped, &c. 



IV. 



W$ fttnumwtt 0f Mten|am: 



" OR THE WOOEING, WINNING, AND WEDDING OF TIBBE, THE REEV's DAUGHTER THERE. 



It does honour to the good sense of this 
nation that while all Europe was captivated 
with the bewitching charms of Chivalry and 
Romance, two of our writers in the rudest 
times could see through the false glare that 
surrounded them, and discover whatever was 
absurd in them both. Chaucer wrote his 
Rhyme of Sir Thopas in ridicule of the latter; 
and in the following poem we have a humor- 
ous burlesque of the former. Without pre- 
tending to decide whether the institution of 
chivalry was upon the whole useful or per- 
nicious in the rude ages, a question that has 
lately employed many good writers,* it evi- 
dently encouraged a vindictive spirit, and 
gave such force to the custom of duelling, 
that there is little hope of its being abolished. 
This, together with the fatal consequences 
which often attended the diversion of the 
Turnament, was sufficient to render it ob- 
noxious to the graver part of mankind. Ac- 
cordingly the church early denounced its 
censures against it, and the state was often 
prevailed on to attempt its suppression. 
But fashion and opinion are superior to au- 
thority : and the proclamations against tilt- 
ing were as little regarded in those times, as 
the laws against duelling are in these. This 
did not escape the discernment of our poet, 
who easily perceived that inveterate opinions 
must be attacked by other weapons, besides 
proclamations and censures ; he accordingly 
made use of the keen one of Ridicule. With 
this view he has here introduced with admi- 



* See [Mr. Hurd's] Letters on Chiyalry, 8vo. 1762. Me- 
moires de la Chevalerie, par M. de la Curne des Palais, 1759, 
2 torn. 12mo., &c. 

23 



rable humour a parcel of clowns, imitating 
all the solemnities of the Tourney. Here we 
have the regular challenge — the appointed 
day — the lady for the prize — the formal pre- 
parations — the display of armour — the scutch- 
eons and devices — the oaths taken on enter- 
ing the lists — the various accidents of the en- 
counter — the victor leading off the prize — and 
the magnificent feasting — with all the other 
solemn fopperies that usually attended the 
pompous Turnament. And how acutely the 
sharpness of the author's humour must have 
been felt in those days, we may learn from 
what we can perceive of its keenness now, 
when time has so much blunted the edge of 
his ridicule. 

The Turnament of Tottenham was first 
printed from an ancient MS. in 1631, 4to., by 
the Rev. Wilhem Bedwell, rector of Totten- 
ham, who was one of the translators of the 
Bible, and afterwards Bishop of Kilmore in 
Ireland, where he lived and died with the 
highest reputation of sanctity, in 1641. He 
tells us, it was written by Gilbert Pilkington, 
thought to have been some time parson of the 
same parish, and author of another piece, en- 
titled Passio Domini Jesu Chrisli. Bedwell, 
who was eminently skilled in the oriental 
and other languages, appears to have been 
but little conversant with the ancient writers 
in his own ; and he so little entered into the 
spirit of the poem he was publishing, that he 
contends for its being a serious narrative of 
a real event, and thinks it must have been 
written before the time of Edward III., be- 
cause Turnaments were prohibited in that 



' This, MS. 



176 



THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM. 



reign. " I do verily believe," says he, " that I 
this Turnament was acted before this procla- 
mation of King Edward. For how durst 
any to attempt to do that, although in sport, 
which was so straightly forbidden, both by 
the civill and ecclesiasticall power ? For al- 
though they fought not with lances, yet, as our 
author sayth, ' It was no childrens game.' 
And what would have become of him, thinke 
you, which should have slayne another in 
this manner of geasting ? Would he not, trow 
you, have been hang'd for it in earnest ? yea, 
and have bene buried like a dogge?" It is, 
however, well known that Turnaments were 
in use down to the reign of Elizabeth. 

In the first editions of this work, Bedwell's 
copy was reprinted here, with some few con- 
jectural emendations ; but as Bedwell seem- 
ed to have reduced the orthography at least, 
if not the phraseology, to the standard of 
his own time, it was with great pleasure that 
the Editor was informed of an ancient MS. 
copy preserved in the Museum [Harl. MSS. 
5396], which appeared to have been transcri- 
bed in the reign of King Hen. VI. about 1456. 
This obliging information the Editor owed to 
the friendship of Thomas Tyrwhit, Esq., and 
he has chiefly followed that more authentic 
transcript, improved however by some read- 
ings from Bedwell's Book. 

Of all thes kene conquerours to carpe it were 

kynde ; 
Of fele feyztyng folk ferly we fynde, 
The Turnament of Totenham have we in 

mynde ; 
It were harme sych hardynes were holden 
byhynde, 

In story as we rede 5 

Of Hawkyn, of Herry, 
Of Tomkyn, of Terry, 
Of them that were dughty 
And stalworth in dede. 

It befel in Totenham on a dere day, 10 

Ther was mad a shurtyng be the hy-way : 
Theder com al the men of the contray, 
Of Hyssylton, of Hy-gate, and of Hakenay, 
And all the swete swynkers. 

Ther hopped Hawkyn, 15 

Ther daunsed Dawkyn, 
Ther trumped Tomkyn, 
And all were trewe drynkers. 



Tyl the day was gon and evyn-song past, 
That thay schuld reckyn ther scot and ther 

counts cast ; 
Perkyn the potter into the press past, 21 
And sayd Randol the refe, a dozter thou hast, 
Tyb the dere : 

Therfor faine wyt wold I, 

Whych of all thys bachelery 25 

Were best worthye 

To wed hur to hys fere. 

Upstyrtthosgadelyngys wyth ther lang staves, 
And sayd, Randol the refe, lo ! thys lad raves ; 
Boldely amang us thy dozter he craves ; 30 
We er rycher men than he, and more gode 
haves 
Of cattell and corn ; 

Then sayd Perkyn, To Tybbe I have 

hyzt 
That I schal be alway redy in my ryzt, 
If that it schuld he thys day sevenyzt, 
Or elles zet to morn. 36 

Then sayd Randolfe the refe, Ever be he 

waryd 
That about thys carpyng lenger wold be 

taryd : 
I wold not my dozter, that scho were miscaryd, 
But at hur most worschip I wold scho were 
maryd ; 

Therfor a Turnament schal begynne 41 
Thys day sevenyzt, — 
Wyth a flayl for to fyzt: 
And ' he,' that is most of myght 
Schal brouke hur wyth wynne. 45 

Whoso berys hym best in the turnament, 
Hym schal be granted the gre be the comon 

assent, 
For to wynne my dozter wyth ' dughtynesse' 

of dent, 
And ' coppell' my brode-henne ' that' was 
brozt out of Kent : 

And my clunnyd kowe 50 

For no spens wyl I spare, 
For no cattell wyl I care, 
He schall have my gray mare, 
And my spottyd sowe. 



Ver. 20, It is not very clear in the MS. whether it 
should he cont or contcrs. Ver. 48, dozty, MS. Ver. 
49, coppled. We still use the phrase, " a copple-crowned 
hen." 



THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM. 



177 



Ther was many ' a' bold lad ther bodyes to 

bede : 55 

Than thay toke thayr leve, and homward they 

zede ; 
And all the weke afterward graythed ther 

wede, 
Tyll it come to the day, that thay suld do ther 
dede. 
They armed ham in matts ; 

Thay set on ther nollys, 60 

For to kepe ther pollys, 
Gode blake bollys, 
For batryng of bats. 

Thay sowed them in schepeskynnes, for thay 

schuld not brest; 
Ilk-on toke a blak hat, insted of a crest: 65 
' A basket or a panyer before on ther brest,' 
And a flayle in ther hande ; for to fyght prest, 
Furth gon thay fare : 

Ther was kyd mekyl fors 
Who schuld best fend hys cors : 70 
He that had no gode hors, 
He gat hym a mare. 

Sych another gadryng have I not sene oft, 
When all the gret company com rydand to 

the croft. 
Tyb on a gray mare was set up on loft 75 
On a sek ful of fedyrs, for scho schuld syt 
soft, 

And led • till the gap.' 
For cryeng of the men 
Forther wold not Tyb then, 
Tyl scho had hur brode hen 80 

Set in hur Lap. 

A gay gyrdyl Tyb had on, borowed for the 

nonys, 
And a garland on hur hed ful of rounde 

bonys, 
And a broche on hur brest ful of ' sapphyre' 

stonys ; 
Wyth the holy-rode tokenyng, was wrotyn for 

the nonys ; 85 

For no ' spendings' thay had spared. 



Ver. 57, gayed, P. C. V. 66 is wanting in MS., and sup- 
plied from, P. C. V. 72, He borrowed him, P. C. V. 76, 
The MS. had once sedys, i. e. seeds, which appears to have 
been altered to fedyrs, or feathers. Bedwell's copy has 
Senvy. i. e. Mustard-seed. V. 77. And led hur to cap, MS. 
V. 83. Bedwell's P. C. has " Ruel-Bones." V. 84, safer stones, 
MS. V. 85, wrotyn, i. e. wrought. P. C. reads written. V. 
86, No catel [perhaps chatel] they had spared, MS. 



When joly Gyb saw hur thare, 
He gyrd so hys gray mare, 
' That scho lete a fowkin' fare 
At the rereward. 



90 



I wow to God, quoth Herry, I schal not lefe 

behynde, 
May I mete wyth Bernard on Bayard the 

blynde, 
Ich man kepe hym out of my wynde, 
For whatsoever that he be, before me I fynde, 
I wot I schall hym greve. 95 

Wele sayd, quoth Hawkyn. 
And I wow, quoth Dawkyn, 
May I mete wyth Tomkyn, 
Hys flayle I schal hym reve. 

I make a vow, quoth Hud, Tyb, son schal 

thou se, 100 

Whych of all thys bachelery ' granted' is the 

gre: 
I schal scomfet thaym all, for the love of the ; 
In what place so I come they schal have dout 
of me, 

Myn armes ar so clere : 
I bere a reddyl, and a rake, 105 

Poudred wyth a brenand drake, 
And three cantells of a cake 
In ycha cornere. 

I vow to God, quoth Hawkyn, yf ' I' have the 

gowt, 
Al that I fynde in the felde ' thrustand here 
aboute, 1 10 

nave I twyes or thryes redyn thurgh the 

route, 
In ycha stede ther thay me se, of me thay 
schal have doute. 
When I begyn to play. 

I make avowe that I ne schall, 
But yf Tybbe wyl me call, 115 

Or I be thryes don fall, 
Ryzt onys bom away. 

Then sayd Terry, and he swore be hys crede ; 
Saw thou never yong boy forther hys body 

bede, 119 

For when thay fyzt fastest and most ar in 

drede, 
I schall take Tyb by the hand, and hur away 

lede: 



Y. 89, Then . . . faucon, MS. V. 101, grant, MS. V. 109, 
yf he have, MS. V. 110, the MS. literally has thr. sand 
here. 



178 



THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM. 



I am armed at the full ; 
In myn armys I bere wele 
A doz trogh, and a pele, 
A sadyll wythout a panell, 
Wyth a fles of woll. 



125 



I make a vow, quoth Dudman, and swore be 

the stra, 
Whyls me ys left my ' mare,' thou gets hurr 

not swa ; 
For scho ys wele schapen, and lizt as the rae, 
Ther is no capul in tliys myle befor hur 
schal ga ; 130 

Sche wul ne nozt begyle : 
Sche wyl me bere, I dar say, 
On a lang somerys day, 
Fro Hyssylton to Hakenay, 
Nozt other half myle. 135 

I make a vow, quoth Perkyn, thow speks of 

cold rost, 
I schal wyrch ' wyselyer' without any bost : 
Five of the best capulys, that ar in thys ost, 
I wot I schal thaym wynne, and bryng thaym 
to my cost, 

And here I grant thaym Tybbe. 140 
Wele boyes here ys he, 
That wyl fyzt, and not fle, 
For I am in my jolyte, 
Wyth so forth, Gybbe. 

When thay had ther vowes made, furth can 

thay hie, 145 

Wyth flayles, and homes, and trumpes mad 

of tre : 
Ther were all the bachelerys of that contre ; 
Thay were dyzt in aray, as thaymselfes wold 
be: 

Thayr baners were ful bryzt 
Of an old rotten fell ; 150 

The cheveron of a plow-mell ; 
And the schadow of a bell, 
Poudred wyth the mone lyzt. 

I wot yt ' was' ne chylder game, whan thay 
togedyr met, 154 

When icha freke in the feld on hys feloy bet, 
And layd on styfly, for nothyng wold thay let, 
And foght ferly fast, tyll ther horses swet, 
And few wordys .spoken. 

Ther were flayles al to slatred, 

Ther wer scheldys al to flatred, 160 

Ver. 128, merth, MS. V. 137, swyselior, MS. V. 146, 
flailes, and harnisse, P. C. V. 151, The Chiefe, P. C. V. 
154, yt ys, MS. 



Bollys and dysches al to schatred, 
And many hedys brokyn. 

There was clynkyng of cart-sade lys, and 

clatteryng of Cannes ; 
Of fele frekys in the feld brokyn were their 

fannes ; 
Of sum were the hedys brokyn, of sum the 

brayn-pannes, 
And yll were thay besene, or tnay went 
thanns, 166 

Wyth swyppyng of swepyls : 
Thay were so wery for-foght, 
Thay myzt not fyzt mare oloft, 
But creped about in the ' croft,' 170 
As thay were croked crepyls. 

Perkyn was so wery, that he began to loute ; 
Help, Hud, I am ded in thys ylk rowte : 
An hors for forty pens, a gode and a stoute! 
That I may lyztly come of my noye oute, 
For no cost wyl I spare. 176 

He styrt up as a snale, 
And hent a capul be the tayle, 
And ' reft' Dawkin hys flayle, 
And wan there a mare. 180 

Perkyn wan five, and Hud wan twa : 

Glad and blythe thay ware, that they had don 

sa; 
Thay wold have tham to Tyb, and present 

hur with tha : 
The Capulls were so wery, that thay myzt 
not ga, 

But styl gon they stond. 185 

Alas ! quoth Hudde, my joye I lese ; 
Mee had lever then a ston of chese, 
That dere Tyb had al these, 
And wyst it were my sond. 

Perkyn turnyd hym about in that ych thrang 

Among thos wery boyes he wrest and he 

wrang ; 191 

He threw tham doun to the erth, and thrast 

tham amang, 
When he saw Tyrry away wyth Tyb fang, 
And after hym ran ; 

Off his horse he hym drogh, 195 

And gaf hym of hys flayl inogh : 
We te he ! quoth Tyb, and lugh, 
Ye er a dughty man. 

Ver. 168, The boyes were, MS. V. 170, creped then about 
In the croft, MS. V. 179, razt, MS. V. 185, stand, MS. 
V. 189, sand, MS. 



FOR THE VICTORY AT AGINCOURT. 



179 



' Thus' thay tugged, and rugged, tyl yt was 

nere nyzt : 
All the wyves of Tottenham came to se that 
syzt 200 

Wyth wyspes, and kexis, and ryschys there 

lyzt, 
To fetch horn ther husbandes, that were tham 
trouth plyzt ; 

And sum brozt gret harwos, 
Ther husbandes horn to fetch, 
Sum on dores, and sum on hech, 205 
Sum on hyrdyllys, and som on crech, 
And sum on whele-barows. 

Thay gaderyd Perkyn about, 'on' everych 

syde, 
And grant hym ther ' the gre,' the more was 

hys pryde : 
Tyb and he, wyth gret ' mirth' homward con 
thay ryde, 210 

And were al nyzt togedyr, tyl the morn tyde ; 
And thay 'to church went:' 
So wele hys nedys he has sped, 
That dere Tyb he ' hath' wed ; 
The prayse-folk, that hur led, 215 
Were of the Turnament. 



To that ylk fest com many for the nones ; 
Some come hyphalte, and some trippand 

' thither' on the stonys : 
Sum a staf in hys hand, and sum two at 

onys ; 
Of sum where the hedes broken, of some the 
schulder bonys ; 220 

With sorrow come thay thedyr. 
Wo was Hawkyn, wo was Herry, 
Wo was Tomkyn, wo was Terry, 
And so was all the bachelary, 
When thay met togedyr. 225 

*At that fest thay wer servyd with a ryche 

aray, 
Every fyve & fyve had a cokenay ; 
And so thay sat in jolyte al the lung day ; 
And at the last thay went to bed with ful 
gret deray : 

Mekyl myrth was them among ; 230 
In every corner of the hous 
Was melody delycyous 
For to here precyus 
Of six menys song.f 



for % Dittorji at gptoutt 



That our plain and martial ancestors could 
wield their swords much better than their 
pens, will appear from the following homely 
rhymes, which were drawn up by some poet 
laureat of those days to celebrate the immor- 
tal victory gained at Agincourt, Oct. 25, 1415. 
This song or hymn is given merely as a curi- 
osity, and is printed from a MS. copy in 
the Pepys collection, vol. I. folio. 

Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria! 

Owre kynge went forth to Normandy, 
With grace and myzt of chivalry ; 
The God for hym wrouzt marvelously, 
Wherefore Englonde may calle, and cry 5 
Deo gratias : 
Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria. 

Ter. 199. Thys, MS. V. 201, hom for to fetch, MS. V. 
208, about everych side, MS. V. 209, the gre, is wanting 
in MS. V. 210, mothe, MS. V. 212. And they ifere assent, 
MS. V. 214, had wed, MS. Y. 215, The cheefemen, P. C. 



He sette a sege, the sothe for to say, 
To Harflue toune with ryal aray ; 
That toune he wan, and made a fray, 
That Fraunce shall rywe tyl domes day. 
Deo gratias : &c. 



10 



Then went owre kynge, with alle his oste, 
Thorowe Fraunce for all the Frenshe boste ; 
He spared ' for' drede of leste, ne most, 15 
Tyl he come to Agincourt coste. 

Deo gratias, &c . 

Ver. 218, trippand on, MS. 

* In the former impressions, this concluding stanza was 
only given from Bedwell's printed edition ; but it is here 
copied from the old MS. wherein it has been since found 
separated from the rest of the poem, by several pages of a 
money-account, and other heterogeneous matter. 

+ Sijymen's song, i. e. a song for six voices. So Shakspeare 
uses Three-man song-men, in his Winter's Tale, A. III. sc. 
3, to denote men that could sing catches composed for three 
voices. Of this sort are Weelkes's Madrigals mentioned 
below. Book II. Song 9. So again Shakspeare has Three- 
men Beetle ; i. e. a Beetle or Hammer worked by three men. 
2 Hen. IV. A. I. sc. 3. 



180 



THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD. 



Than for sothe that knyzt comely 
In Agincourt feld he fauzt manly, 
Thorow grace of God most myzty 20 

He had bothe the felde, and the victory. 
Deo gratias, &c. 



Ther dukys, and erlys, lorde and barone, 
Were take, and slayne, and that wel sone, 



And some were ledde in to Lundone 25 

With joye, and merthe, and grete renone. 
Deo gratias, &c. 



Now gracious God he save owre kynge, 
His peple, and all his wel wyllynge, 
Gef him gode lyfe, and gode endynge, 
That we with merth mowe savely synge 
Deo gratias : 
Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria. 



30 



VI. 



[t $[0i-§rAtoiu Ijfasfo. 



The sentimental beauties of this ancient 
ballad have always recommended it to readers 
of taste, notwithstanding the rust of antiquity 
which obscures the style and expression. 
Indeed, if it had no other merit than the 
having afforded the ground-work to Prior's 
" Henry and Emma," this ought to preserve 
it from oblivion. That we are able to give it 
in so correct a manner, is owing to the great 
care and exactness of the accurate Editor of 
the "Prolusions," 8vo., 1760; who has formed 
the text from two copies found in two differ- 
ent editions of Arnolde's Chronicle, a book 
supposed to be first printed about 1521. 
From the copy in the Prolusions the follow- 
ing is printed, with a few additional improve- 
ments gathered from another edition of Ar- 
nolde's book* preserved in the Public Li- 
brary at Cambridge. All the various read- 
ings of this copy will be found here, either 
received into the text, or noted in the margin. 
The references to the Prolusions will show 
where they occur. In our ancient folio MS. 
described in the preface, is a very corrupt 
and defective copy of this ballad, which yet 
afforded a great improvement in one passage. 
See v. 310. 

It has been a much easier task to settle 
the text of this poem, than to ascertain its 
date. The ballad of the " Nutbrowne Mayd" 

* This (which my friend Mr. Farmer supposes to he the 
first edition) is in folio: the folios are numbered at tbe 
bottom of the leaf; the Song begins at folio 75. The poem 
has since been collated with a very fine copy that was in 
the collection of the late James West, Esq. ; the readings 
extracted thence are denoted thus, ' Mr. W.' 



was first revived in " The Muses Mercury 
for June, 1707," 4to., being prefaced with a 
little " Essay on the old English Poets and 
Poetry :" in which this poem is concluded to 
be "near 300 years old," upon reasons which, 
though they appear inconclusive to us now, 
were sufficient to determine Prior ; who there 
first met with it. However, this opinion had 
the approbation of the learned Wanley, an 
excellent judge of ancient books. For that 
whatever related to the reprinting of this old 
piece was referred to Wanley, appears from 
two letters of Prior's preserved in the British 
Museum. [Harl. MSS. No. 3777.] The Edi- 
tor of the Prolusions thinks it cannot be older 
than the year 1500, because, in Sir Thomas 
More's Tale of " The Serjeant," &c, which 
was written about that time, there appears 
a sameness of rhythmus and orthography, and 
a very near affinity of words and phrases, 
with those of this ballad. But this reasoning 
is not conclusive ; for if Sir Thomas More 
made this ballad his model, as is very likely, 
that will account for the sameness of measure, 
and in some respect for that of words and 
phrases, even though this had been written 
long before : and, as for the orthography, it 
is well known that the old printers reduced 
that of most books to the standard of their 
own times. Indeed, it is hardly probable 
that an antiquary like Arnolde would have 
inserted it among his historical collections, if 
it had been then a modern piece ; at least, he 
would have been apt to have named its 
author. But to show how little can be in- 



THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD. 



181 



ferrcd from a resemblance of rhythmus or 
style, the editor of these volumes has in his 
ancient folio MS. a poem on the victory of 
Floddenfield, -written in the same numbers, 
with the same alliterations, and in orthogra- 
phy, phraseology, and style nearly resembling 
the Visions of Pierce Plowman, which are yet 
known to have been composed above 160 
years before that battle. As this poem is a 
great curiosity, we shall give a few of the in- 
troductory lines : 

" Grant, gracious God, grant me this time, 
That I may 'say, or I cease, thy selven to 

please ; 
And Mary his mother, that maketh this world ; 
And all the seemlie saints, that sitten in 

heaven ; 
I will carpe of kings, that conquered full 

wide, 
That dwelled in this land, that was alyes 

noble ; 
Henry the seventh, that soveraigne lord, &c. 

With regard to the date of the following 
ballad, we have taken a middle course, 
neither placed it so high as Wanley and 
Prior, nor quite so low as the editor of the 
Prolusions : we should have followed the lat- 
ter in dividing every other line into two, but 
that the whole would then have taken up 
more room than could be allowed it in this 
volume. 

Be it ryght, or wrong, these men among 

On women do complayne ;* 
Affyrmynge this, how that it is 

A labour spent in vayne, 
To love them wele ; for never a dele 5 

They love a man agayne : 
For late a man do what he can, 

Theyr favour to attayne, 
Yet, yf a newe do them persue, 

Theyr first true lover than 10 

Laboureth for nought : for from her thought 

He is a banyshed man. 



Ver. 2, woman. Prolusions, and Mr. West's copy. V. 11, 
her, i. e. their. 

* My friend, Mr. Farme, proposes to read the first lines 
thus, as a Latinism : 

Be it right or wrong, His men among, 
On woman to complayne. 



I say nat nay, but that all day 

It is bothe writ and sayd 
That womans faith is, as who sayth, 15 

All utterly decayd ; 
But, neverthelesse ryght good wytnesse 

In this case might be layd, 
That they love true, and continue : 

Recorde the Not-browne Mayde : 20 

Which, when her love came, her to prove, 

To her to make his mone, 
Wolde nat depart ; for in her hart 

She loved but hym alone. 

Than betwaine us late us dyscus 25 

What was all the manere 
Betwayne them two : we wyll also 

Tell all the payne, and fere, 
That she was in. Now I begyn 

So that ye me answere ; 30 

Wherfore, all ye that present be 

I pray you, gyve an ere 
"lam the knyght ; I come by nyght, 

As secret as I can ; 
Sayinge, Alas ! thus standeth the case, 35 

I am a banyshed man." 



And I your wyll for to fulfyll 

In this wyll nat refuse ; 
Trustying to shewe, in wordes fewe, 

That men have an yll use 40 

(To theyr own shame) women to blame, 

And causelesse them accuse ; 
Therfore to you I answere nowe, 

All women to excuse, — 
Myne owne hart dere, with you what chere ? 

I pray you, tell anone ; 46 

For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

I love but you alone. 



It standeth so ; a dede is do 

Whereof grete harme shall growe : 50 

My destiny is for to dy 

A shamefull deth, I trowe ; 
Or elles to fie: the one must be. 

None other way I knowe, 
But to withdrawe as an outlawe, 55 

And take me to my bowe. 
Wherfore, adue, my owne hart true ! 

None other rede I can ; 
For I must to the grene wode go, 

Alone, a banyshed man. 60 



182 



THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD. 



Lord, what is thys worldys blysse, 
That changeth as the mone ! 

My somers day in lusty may 
Is derked before the none. 

1 here you say, farewell : Nay, nay, 
We depart nat so sone. 

Why say ye so ? wheder wyll ye go ? 

Alas ! what have ye done ? 
All my welfare to sorrowe and care 

Sholde chaunge, yf ye were gone; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

I love but you alone. 



65 



70 



I can beleve, it shall you greve, 

And somewhat you dystrayne ; 
But, aftyrwarde, your paynes harde 75 

Within a day or twayne 
Shall sone aslake ; and ye shall take 

Comfort to you agayne. 
Why sholde ye ought? for, to make thought, 

Your labour were in vayne. 80 

And thus I do ; and pray you to 

As hartely, as I can ; 
For I must to the grene wode go, 

Alone, a banyshed man. 



Now, syth that ye have shewed to me 85 

The secret of your mynde, 
I shall be playne to you agayne, 

Lyke as ye shall me fynde. 
Syth it is so, that ye wyll go, 

I wolle not leve behynde : 90 

Shall never be sayd, the Not-browne Mayd 

Was to her love unkynde : 
Make you redy, for so am I, 

Allthough it were anone ; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 95 

I love but you alone. 



Yet I you rede to take good hede 

What men wyll thynke, and say : 
Of yonge, and olde it shall be tolde, 

That ye be gone away, 100 

Your wanton wyll for to fulfill, 

In grene wode you to play ; 
And that ye myght from your delyght 

No lenger make delay. 



Ver. 63, The somers, Prol. V. 91, Shall it never, Prol. 
and Mr. W. V. 94, Althought, Mr. W. 



Rather than ye sholde thus for me 105 

Be called an yll woman, 
Yet wolde I to the grene wode go 

Alone, a banyshed man. 



Though it be songe of old and yonge, 

That I sholde be to blame, 110 

Theyrs be the charge, that speke so large 

In hurtynge of my name : 
For I wyll prove, that faythfulle love 

It is devoyd of shame ; 
In your dystresse, and hevynesse, 115 

To part with you, the same : 
And sure all tho, that do not so, 

True lovers are they none ; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

I love but you alone. 120 



I counceyle you, remember howe, 

It is no maydens lawe, 
Nothynge to dout, but to renne out 

To wode with an outlawe : 
For ye must there in your hand bere 125 

A bowe, redy to drawe ; 
And, as a thefe, thus must you lyve, 

Ever in drede and awe ; 
Wherby to you grete harme myght growe : 

Yet had I lever than, 130 

That I had to the grene wode go, 

Alone, a banyshed man. 



I thinke nat nay, but as ye say, 

It is no maydens lore : 
But love may make me for your sake, 135 

As I have sayd before 
To come on fote, to hunt, and shote 

To gete us mete in store ; 
For so that I your company 

May have, I aske no more : 140 

From which to part, it maketh my hart 

As colde as ony stone ; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

I love but you alone. 



For an outlawe this is the lawe, 145 

That men hvm take and bynde ; 



Ver. 117, To shewe all, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 133, 1 say 
nat, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 138, and store, Camb. copy. 



THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD. 



183 



Without pyte, hanged to be, 

And waver with the wynde, 
If I had nede, (as God forbede !) 

What rescous coude ye fynde ? 
Forsoth, I trowe, ye and your bowe 

For fere wolde drawe behynde : 
And no mervayle ; for lytell avayle 

Were in your counceyle than : 
Wherfore I wyll to the grene wode go, 

Alone, a banyshed man. 



150 



155 



Ryght wele knowe ye, that women be 

But feble for to fyght ; 
No womanhede it is indede 

To be bolde as a knyght : 160 

Yet, in such fere yf that ye were 

With enemyes day or nyght, 
I wolde withstande, with bowe in hande 

To grove them as I myght, 
And you to save ; as women have 165 

From deth ' men' many one : 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

I love but you alone. 



Yet take good hede ; for ever I drede 

That ye coude nat sustayne 170 

The thornie wayes, the depe valleies, 

The snowe, the frost, the rayne, 
The colde, the hete : for dry, or wete, 

We must lodge on the playne : 
And, us above, none other rofe 175 

But a brake bush, or twayne : 
Which soue sholde greve you, I beleve ; 

And ye wolde gladly than 
That I had to the grene wode go, 

Alone, a banyshed man. 180 



Syth I have here bene partynere 

With you of joy and blysse, 
I must also parte of your wo 

Endure, as reson is : 
Yet am I sure of one plesure 185 

And, shortely, it is this : 
That, where ye be, me semeth, parde, 

I coude nat fare amysse. 
Without more speche, I you beseche 

That we were sone agone ; 190 



Ver. 150, socours, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 162, and night, 
Camb. Copy. V. 164, to helpe ye with my myght, Prol. and 
Mr. W. V. 172, frost and rayne, Mr. W. V. 174, Ye must, 
Prol. V. 190, shortley gone, Prol. and Mr. W. 

24 



For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 
I love but you alone. 



If ye go thyder, ye must consyder, 

Whan ye have lust to dyne, 
There shall no mete be for you gete, 195 

Nor drinke, bere, ale, ne wyne. 
No schet^s clene, to lye betwene, 

Made of threde and twyne ; 
None other house, but leves and bowes, 

To cover your hed and myne. 200 

O myne harte swete, this evyll dyete 

Sholde make you pale and wan ; 
Wherfore I wyll to the grene wode go, 

Alone, a banyshed man. 



Amonge the wylde dere, such an archere, 

As men say that ye be, 206 

Ne may nat fayle of good vitayle, 

Where is so grete plente : 
And water clere of the ryv6re 

Shall be full ewete to me ; 210 

With which in hele I shall ryght wele 

Endure, as ye shall see ; 
And, or we go, a bedde or two 

I can provyde anone ; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 215 

I love but you alone. 



Lo yet, before, ye must do more, 

Yf ye wyll go with me : 
As cut your here up by your ere, 

Your kyrtel by the kne ; 220 

With bowe in hande, for to withstande 

Your enemyes yf nede be : 
And this same nyght before day-lyght, 

To wode-warde wyll I fle. 
Yf that ye wyll all this fulfill, 225 

Do it shortely as ye can : 
Els wyll I to the grene wode go, 

Alone, a banyshed man. 



I shall as nowe do more for you 

Than longeth to womanhede ; 230 

To shote my here, a bowe to bere, 

To shote in tyme of nede. 

Ver. 196, Neyther bere. Prol. and Mr. W. V. 201, Lo 
myn, Mr. W. V. 207, May ye nat fayle, Prol. lb. May nat 
fayle, Mr. W. V. 219, above your ere, Prol. V. 220, above 
the kne, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 223, the same, Prol. and 
Mr. W. 



184 



THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD. 



my swete mother, before all other 

For you I have most drede : 
But nowe, adue ! I must ensue, 235 

Where fortune doth me lede. 
All tliis make ye: Now let us fle: 

The day cometh fast upon ; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

I love but you alone. 240 



Nay, nay, nat so ; ye shall nat go, 

And I shall tell ye why, 

Your appetyght is to be lyght 

Of love, I wele espy : 
For, lyke as ye have sayed to me, 245 

In lyke wyse hardely 
Ye wolde answ§re whosoever it were, 

In way of company. 
It is sayd of olde, Sone hote, sone colde ; 

And so is a woman. 250 

Wherfore I to the wode wyll go, 

Alone, a banyshed man. 



Yf ye take hede, it is no nede 

Such wordes to say by me ; 
For oft ye prayed, and longe assayed, 255 

Or I you loved, parde : 
And though that I of auncestry 

A barons daughter be, 
Yet have you proved howe I you loved 

A squyer of lowe degre ; 260 

And ever shall, whatso befall ; 

To dy therfore* anone; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

I love but you alone. 



A barons chylde to be begylde ! 265 

It were a cursed dede ; 
To be felawe with an outlawe ! 

Almighty God forbede ! 
Yet beter were, the pore squyere 

Alone to forest yede, 270 

Than ye sholde say another day, 

That, by my cursed dede, 
Ye were betray'd : Wherfore, good mayd, 

The best rede that I can, 
Is, that I to the grene wode go, 275 

Alone, a banyshed man. 



Ver. 251, For I must to the grene wode go, Prol. and Mr. 
W. V.253, yet is, Camb. Copy. Perhaps for yt is. V. 262, 
dy with him. Editor's MS. 

* i. e. for this cause . . though I were to die for having 
■oved you. 



Whatever befall, I never shall 

Of this thyng you upbrayd: 
But yf ye go, and leve me so, 

Then have ye me betrayd. 280 

Remember you wele, howe that ye dele ; 

For, yf ye, as ye sayd, 
Be so unkynde, to leve behynde 

Your love, the Not-browne Mayd, 
Trust me truly, that I shall dy 285 

Sone after ye be gone ; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

I love but you alone. 



Yf that ye went, ye sholde repent ; 

For in the forest nowe 290 

I have purvayed me of a mayd, 

Whom I love more than you ; 
Another fayrere, than ever ye were, 

I dare it wele avowe ; 
And of ye bothe eche sholde be wrothe 295 

With other, as I trowe : .. 
It were myne ese, to lyve in pese ; 

So wyll I, yf I can ; 
Wherfore I to the wode wyll go, 

Alone, a banyshed man. 300 



Though in the wode I undyrstode 

Ye had a paramour, 
All this may nought remove my thought, 

But that I wyll be your : 
And she shall fynde me soft, and kynde, 305 

And courteys every hour ; 
Glad to fulfyll all that she wyll 

Commaunde me to my power: 
For had ye, lo, an hundred mo, 

' Of them I wolde be one ;' 310 

For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

I love but you alone. 



Myne owne dere love, I se the prove 

That ye be kyndo, and true : 
Of mayde, and wyfe, in all my lyfe, 315 

The best that ever I knewe. 

Ver. 278, outbrayed, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 2S2, ye be as, 
Prol. and Mr. W. V. 283, Ye were unkynde to lev me 
behynde, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 310, So the Editor's MS. 
All the printed copies read : 

Yet wold I be that one. 

Ver. 315, of all, Prol. and Mr. W. 



A BALET BY THE EARL RIVERS. 



185 



Be mery and glad, be no more sad, 

The case is chaunged newe ; 
For it were ruthe, that, for your truthe, 

Ye sholde have cause to rewe. 320 

Be nat dismayed ; whatsoever I sayd 

To you, whan I began ; 
I wyll nat to the grene wode go, 

I am no banyshed man. 



These tydings be more gladd to me, 325 

Than to be made a quene, 
Yf I were sure they sholde endure : 

But it is often sene, 
Whan men wyll breke promyse, they speke 

The wordes on the splene. 330 

Ye shape some wyle me to begyle, 

And stele from me, I wene : 
Than were the case worse than it was, 

And I more wo-begone: 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 335 

I love but you alone. 



Ye shall nat nede further to drede ; 
I will nat dysparage 



You, (God defend!) syth ye descend 

Of so grete a lynage. 340 

Nowe undyrstande; to Westmarlande, 

Which is myne herytage, 
I wyll you brynge ; and with a rynge 

By way of maryage 
I wyll you take, and lady make, 345 

As shortely as I can : 
Thus have you won an erlys son 

And not a banyshed man. 



Here may ye se, that women be 

In love, meke, kynde, and stable : 350 
Late never man reprove them than, 

Or call them variable ; 
But, rather, pray God, that we may 

To them be comfortable ; 
Which sometyme proveth such, as he loveth, 

Yf they be charytable. 356 

For syth men wolde that women sholde 

Be meke to them each one, 
Moche more ought they to God obey. 

And serve but hym alone. 360 



VII. 



Jl gaUt bg % fel Prm. 



The amiable light in which the character 
of Anthony Widville the gallant Earl Rivers 
has been placed by the elegant Author of the 
Catalogue of Noble Writers, interests us in 
whatever fell from his pen. It is presumed 
therefore that the insertion of this little Son- 
net will be pardoned, though it should not be 
found to have much poetical merit. It is the 
only original poem known of that nobleman's ; 
his more voluminous works being only transla- 
tions. And if we consider that it was writ- 
ten during his cruel confinement in Pomfret 
castle a short time before his execution in 
1483, it gives us a fine picture of the compo- 
sure and steadiness with which this stout 
Earl beheld his approaching fate. 

This ballad we owe to Rouse, a contempo- 



Ver. 325, gladder, Prol. and Mr. W. 



rary historian, who seems to have copied it 
from the Earl's own handwriting: In tem- 
pore, says this writer, incarceration* s apud 
Pontem-fractum edidit umim Baletzn anglicis, 
ut mild monstratum est, quod subsequitur sub 
his verbis: Sum what Musing, &c. "Rossi 
Hist. 8vo. 2 Edit. p. 213." In Rouse the 2d 
Stanza, &c, is imperfect, but the defects are 
here supplied from a more perfect copy 
printed in " Ancient Songs from the time of 
King Henry III. to the Revolution," p. 87. 

This little piece, which perhaps ought ra- 
ther to have been printed in stanzas of eight 
short lines, is written in imitation of a poem 

Ver. 340, grete lynyage, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 347, Then 
have, Prol. V. 348, and no banyshed, Prol. and Mr. W. 
V. 352, This line wanting in Prol. and Mr. W. V. 355, 
proved — loved, Prol. and Mr. W. lb. as loveth, Camb. V. 
357, Forsoth, Prol. and Mr. W. 



186 



CUPID'S ASSAULT : BY LORD VAUX. 



of Chaucer's, that will be found iu Urry's 
Edit. 1721, p. 555, beginning thus : 

" Alone walkyng. In thought plainyng, 
And sore sighying, All desolate, 

My remembrying Of my livyng 

My death wishyng Bothe erly and late. 

" Infortunate Is so my fate 
That wote ye what, Out of mesure 

My life I hate; Thus desperate 

In such pore estate, Doe I endure, &c." 

SuMWHAT musyng, And more mornyng, 
In remembring The unstydfastnes ; 

This world being Of such whelyng, 
Me contrarieng, What may I gesso ? 



I fere dowtles, Remediles, 

Is now to sese My wofull chaunce, 
[For unkyndncss, Withouten less, 

And no redress, Me doth avaunce, 

With displesaunce, To my grevaunce, 
And no suraunce Of remedy.] 

Lo in this traunce, Now in substaunce, 
Such is my dawnce, Wyllyng to dye. 

Me thynkys truly, Bowndyn am I, 
And that gretly, To be content ; 

Seyng playnly, Fortune doth wry 
All contrary From myn entent. 



10 



15 



My lyff was lent Me to on intent, 
Hytt is ny spent. Welcome fortune ! 

But I ne went Thus to be shent, 

But sho hit ment ; such is hur won. 20 



VIII. 



drib's gssattlt: §g $0rtr Mt 



The reader will think that infant Poetry 
grew apace between the times of Rivers and 
Vaux, though nearly contemporaries ; if the 
following song is the composition of that Sir 
Nicholas (afterwards Lord) Vaux, who was 
the shining ornament of the court of Henry 
VII., and died in the year 1523. 

And yet to this Lord is attributed by Put- 
tenham in his " Art of Eng. Poesie, 1589, 
4to.," a writer commonly well informed : take 
the passage at large. " In this figure [Coun- 
terfait Action] the Lord Nicholas Vaux, a 
noble gentleman and much delighted in vul- 
gar making, and a man otherwise of no great 
learning, but having herein a marvelous fa- 
cilitie, made a dittie representing the Bat- 
tayle and Assaulte of Cupide, so excellently 
well, as for the gallant and propre applica- 
tion of his fiction in every part I cannot 
(•In iosc but set downe the greatest part of his 
ditty, for in truth it cannot be amended. 
When Cupid Scaled, &c." p. 200.— For a far- 
ther account of Nicholas Lord Vaux, see Mr. 
Walpole's Noble Authors, Vol. I. 

The following copy is printed from the 
first Edit, of Surrey's Poems, 1557, 4to. — See 
another Song of Lord Vaux's in the preced- 
ing Vol. Book II. No. II. 



When Cupide scaled first the fort, 
Wherein my hart lay wounded sore ; 

The batry was of such a sort, 

That I must yclde or die therfore. 

There sawe I Love upon the wall, 5 

How he his banner did display ; 

Alarme, alarme, he gan to call: 
And bad his souldiours kepe aray. 

The amies, the which that Cupide bare 
Were pearced hartes with teares besprent, 

In silver and sable to declare 11 

The stedfast love, ho alwayes ment. 

There might you se his band all drcst 
In colours like to white and blacke, 

With powder and with pelletes prest 15 

To bring the fort to spoile and sacke. 

Good-wyll, the maister of the shot, 

Stode in the ratlipire brave and proude, 

For spence of pouder lie spared not 
Assault ! assault ! to crye aloude. 20 

There might you hcare the cannons rore ; 

Eche pece discharged a lovers Like ; 
Which had the power to rent, and tore 

In any place wheras they toke. 

Ver. 15, That fortune, Rossi Ilist. V. 19, went, i. e. weened. 



CUPID'S ASSAULT: BY LORD VAUX. 



187 



And even with the trumpettes sowne 25 

The scaling ladders were up set, 

And Beautie walked up and downe, 
With bow in hand, and airowes whet. 

Then first Desire began to scale, 

And shrouded him under • his' targe ; 30 
As one the worthiest of them all, 

And aptest for to geve the charge. 

Then pushed souldiers with their pikes. 

And halberdes with handy strokes ; 
The argabushe in fleshe it lightes, 35 

And duns the ayre with misty smokes. 

And, as it is the souldiers use 
"When shot and powder gins to want, 

I hanged up my flagge of truce, 
And pleaded up for my lives grant. 40 

When Fansy thus had mode her breche, 
And Beauty entred with her band, 

With bagge and baggage, sely wretch, 
I yelded into Beauties hand. 

Then Beautie bad to blow retrete, 45 

And every souldier to retire, 
And mercy wyll'd with spede to fet 

Me captive bound as prisoner. 

Madame, quoth I, sith that this day 

Hath served you at all assayes, 50 

1 yeld to you without delay 
Here of the fortresse all the kayes. 

And sith that I have ben the marke, 
At whom you shot at with your eye ; 

Nedes must you with your handy warke 55 
Or salve my sore, or let me die. 

*#* Since the foregoing song was first 
printed off, reasons have occurred, which in- 
cline me to believe that Lord Vaux the poet 
was not the Lord Nicholas Vaux, who died 
in 1523, but rather a successor of his in the 
title. — For in the first place it is remarkable 
that all the old writers mention Lord Vaux, 
the poet, as contemporary or rather posterior 
to Sir Thomas Wyat, and the Earl of Surrey, 
neither of which made any figure till long 
after the death of the first Lord Nicholas 
Vaux. Thus Puttenham, in his "Art of 
English Poesie, 1589," in p. 48, having named 
Skelton, adds, " In the latter end of the same 

V. 30, her, Ed. 1557, so Ed. 1586. 



kings raigne [Henry VIII.] sprong up a new 
company of courtly makers [poets], of whom 
Sir Thomas Wyat th' elder, and Henry Earl 
of Surrey, were the two chieftaines, who 
having travailed into Italie, and there tasted 
the sweet and stately measures and stile of 
the Italian poesie . . greatly polished our rude 
and homely manner of vulgar poesie . . In the 
same time, or not long after, was the Lord 
Nicholas Vaux, a man of much facilitie in 
vulgar making."* — Webbe, in his Discourse 
of English Poetrie, 1580, ranges them in the 
following order, " The Earl of Surrey, the 
Lord Vaux, Norton, Bristow." And Gas- 
coigne, in the place quoted in the 1st vol. of 
this work [B. II. No. II.] mentions Lord 
Vaux after Surrey. — Again, the style and 
measure of Lord Vaux's pieces seem too re- 
fined and polished for the age of Henry VII. 
and rather resemble the smoothness and har- 
mony of Surrey and Wyat, than the rude 
metre of Skelton and Hawes. — But what puts 
the matter out of all doubt, in the British 
Museum is a copy of his poem, 1 lathe that I 
did love, [vid. vol. I. ubi supra] with this title, 
" A dyttye or sonet made by the Lord Vaus, 
in the time of the noble Quene Marye, repre- 
senting the image of Death." Harl. MSS. 
No. 1703, I 25. 

It is evident then that Lord Vaux the poet 
was not he that flourished in the reign of 
Henry VII., but either his son, or grandson : 
and yet according to Dugdale's Baronage, 
the former was named Thomas, and the latter 
William : but this difficulty is not great, for 
none of the old writers mention the Christian 
name of the poetic Lord Vaux,f except Put- 
tenham ; and it is more likely that he might 
be mistaken in that lord's name, than in the 
time in which he lived, who was so nearly 
his contemporary. 

Thomas Lord Vaux, of Harrowden in North- 
amptonshire, was summoned to parliament 
in 1531. When he died does not appear; 
but he probably lived till the latter end of 
Queen Mary's reign, since his son. William 
was not summoned to parliament till the 
last year of that reign, in 1558. This Lord 
died in 1595. See Dugdale, vol. ii. p. 304. 
— Upon the whole I am inclined to believe 
that Lord Thomas was the poet. 



* i. e. Compositions in English. 

t In the Paradise of Dainty Devises, 1596, he is called 
simply " I,ord Vaux the elder." 



188 



SIR ALDINGAR. 



IX. 

Sir JtlHnpr. 



This old fabulous legend is given from the 
editor's folio MS. with conjectural emenda- 
tions, and the insertion of some additional 
stanzas to supply and complete the story. 

It has been suggested to the editor, that 
the author of this poem seems to have had in 
his eye the story of Gunhilda, who is some- 
times called Eleanor, and was married to the 
emperor (here called King) Henry. 

Or/R king he kept a false stewarde, 

Sir Aldingar they him call ; 
A falser steward than he was one, 

Servde not in bower nor hall. 

He wolde have layne by our comelye queene, 
Her deere worshippe to betraye : 6 

Our queene she was a good woman, 
And evermore said him naye. 

Sir Aldingar was wrothe in his mind, 

With her hee was never content, 10 

Till traiterous meanes he colde devyse, 
In a fyer to have her brent. 

There came a lazar to the kings gate, 

A lazar both blinde and lame : 
He tooke the lazar upon his backe, 15 

Him on the queenes bed has layne. 

" Lye still, lazar, wheras thou lyest, 
Looke thou goe not hence away ; 

He make thee a whole man and a sound 
In two howers of the day."* 20 

Then went him forth Sir Aldingar, 

And hyed him to our king: 
" If I might have grace, as I have space 

Sad tydings I could bring." 

Say on, say on, sir Aldingar, 25 

Saye on the soothe to mee, 
"Our queene hath chosen a new new love, 

And shee will have none of thee. 

* He probably insinuates that the king should heal him 
by his power of touching for the King's Evil. 



"If shee had chosen a right good knight, 
The lesse had beene her shame; 30 

But she hath chose her a lazar man, 
A lazar both blinde and lame." 

If this be true, thou Aldingar, 

The tyding thou tellest to me, 
Then will I make thee a rich rich knight, 35 

Rich both of golde and fee. 

But if it be false, sir Aldingar, 

As God nowe grant it bee! 
Thy body, I sweare by the holye rood, 

Shall hang on the gallows tree. 40 

He brought our king to the queenes chamber, 

And opend to him the dore. 
A lodlye love, king Harry says, 

For our queene dame Elinore! 

If thou were a man, as thou art none, 45 

Here on my sword thoust dye ; 
But a payre of new gallowes shall be built, 

And there shalt thou hang on hye. 



Forth then hyed our king, I wysse, 
And an angry man was hee; 

And soone he found queene Elinore, 
That bride so bright of blee. 



50 



Now God you save, our queene, madame, 

And Christ you save and see; 
Heere you have chosen a newe newe love, 55 

And you will have none of mee. 

If you had chosen a right good knight, 
The lesse had been your shame : 

But you have chose you a lazer man, 

A lazer both blinde and lame. 60 

Therfore a fyer there shall be built, 
And brent all shalt thou bee. 

"Now out alack! said our comly queene, 
Sir Aldingar's false to mee. 

Now out alacke ! sayd our comlye queene, 65 
My heart with griefe will brast. 



SIR ALDINGAR. 



189 



I had thought swevens had never been true; 
I have proved them true at last. 

I dreamt in my sweven on thursday eve, 
In my bed wheras I laye, 70 

I dreamt a grype and a grimlie beast 
Had carryed my crowne awaye ; 



My gorgett and my kirtle of golde, 
And all^ny faire head-geere ; 

And he wold worrye me with his tush 
And to his nest y-bare: 



7- r , 



Saving there came a little 'gray' hawke, 

A merlin him they call, 
Which untill the grounde did strike the grype, 

That dead he downe did fall. 80 

Giffe I were a man, as now I am none, 

A battell wold I prove, 
To fight with that traitor Aldingar; 

Att him I cast my glove. 

But seeing Ime able noe battell to make, 85 

My liege, grant me a knight 
To fig"ht with that traitor sir Aldingar, 

To maintaine me in my right." 



"Now forty dayes I will give thee 
To seeke thee a knight therin: 

If thou find not a knight in forty dayes 
Thy bodye it must brenn." 



90 



Then shee sent east, and shee sent west, 

By north and south bedeene: 
But never a champion colde she find, 95 

Wolde fight with that knight soe keene. 

Now twenty dayes were spent and gone, 

Noe helpe there might be had; 
Many a teare shed our comelye queene 

And aye her hart was sad. 100 

Then came one of the queenes damselles, 

And knelt upon her knee, 
"Cheare up, cheare up, my gracious dame, 

I trust yet helpe may be: 

And here I will make mine avowe, 105 

And with the same me binde; 
That never will I return to thee, 

Till I some helpe may finde." 

Ver. 77, see below, ver. 137. 



Then forth she rode on a faire palfraye 
Oer hill and dale about: 110 

But never a champion colde she finde 
"Wolde fighte with that knight so stout. 

And nowe the daye drewe on a pace, 
When our good queene must dye ; 

All woe-begone was that faire damselle, 115 
When she found no helpe was nye. 

All woe-begone was that faire damselle, 
And the salt teares fell from her eye : 

When lo ! as she rode by a rivers side, 
She met with a tinye boye. 120 

A tinye boye she mette, God wot, 

All clad in mantle of golde ; 
He seemed noe more in mans likenesse, 

Then a childe of four yeere olde. 

Why grieve you, damselle faire, he sayd, 
And what doth cause you moane? 126 

The damselle scant wolde deigne a looke, 
But fast she pricked on. 



Yet turne againe, thou faire damselle, 
And greete thy queene from mee: 

When bale is att hyest, boote is nyest, 
Nowe helpe enoughe may bee. 



130 



Bid her remember what she dreamt 

In her bedd, wheras shee laye ; 134 

How when the grype and the grimly beast 
Wolde have carried her crowne awaye, 

Even then there came the little gray hawke, 
And saved her from his clawes : 

Then bidd the queene be merry at hart, 
For heaven will fende her cause. 140 

Back then rode that faire damselle, 

And her hart it lept for glee : 
And when she told her gracious dame 

A gladd woman then was shee. 

But when the appointed day was come, 145 

No helpe appeared nye : 
Then woeful, woeful was her hart, 

And the teares stood in her eye. 

And nowe a fyer was built of wood ; 

And a stake was made of tree ; 150 

And nowe Queene Elinor forth was led, 

A sorrowful sight to see 



190 



SIR ALDINGAR. 



Three times the herault he waved his hand, 

And three times spake on hye : 
Giff any good knight will fende this dame, 

Come forth, or shee must dye. 156 

No knight stood forth, no knight there came, 

No helpe appeared nye: 
And now the fyer was lighted up, 

Queen Elinor she must dye. 160 

And now the fyer was lighted up, 

As hot as hot might bee ; 
When riding upon a little white steed, 

The tinye boy they see. 

"Away with that stake, away with those 
brands, 165 

And loose our comelye queene : 
I am come to fight with Sir Aldingar, 

And prove him a traitor keene." 

Forthe then stood Sir Aldingar, 

But when he saw the chylde, 170 

He laughed, and scoffed and turned his back, 

And weened he had been beguylde. 

" Now turne, now turne thee, Aldingar, 

And eyther fighte or flee ; 
I trust that I shall avenge the wronge, 175 

Though I am so small to see." 

The boye pulld forth a well good sworde, 

So gilt it dazzled the ee ; 
The first stroke stricken at Aldingar 

Smote off his leggs by the knee. 180 

" Stand up, stand up, thou false traitdr, 

And fight upon thy feete, 
For and thou thrive, as thou begin'st, 

Of height wee shall be meete." 



A priest, a priest, sayes Aldingar, 
While I am a man alive. 



185 



A priest, a priest, sayes Aldingar, 
Me for to houzle and shrive. 

I wolde have laine by our comlie queene, 
Bot shee wolde never consent ; 190 

Then I thought to betraye her unto our kinge, 
In a fyer to have her brent. 

There came a lazar to the kings gates, 

A lazar both blind and lame ; 
I tooke the lazar upon my backe, 195 

And on her bedd had him layne. 

Then ranne I to our comlye king, 

These tidings sore to tell. 
But ever alacke ! sayes Aldingar, 

Falsing never doth well. 200 

Forgive, forgive me, queene, madame, 

The short time I must live, 
"Nowe Christ forgive thee, Aldingar, 

As freely I forgive." 

Here take thy queene, our King Harrye, 
And love her as thy life, 206 

For never had a king in Christentye, 
A truer and fairer wife. 

King Henrye ran to claspe his queene, 
And loosed her full sone ; 210 

Then turnd to look for the tinye boye ; 
The boye was vanisht and gone. 

But first he had touchd the lazar man, 
And stroakt him with his hand: 

The lazar under the gallowes tree 215 

All whole and sounde did stand. 

The lazar under the gallowes tree 
Was comelye, straight and tall ; 

King Henrye made him his head stewarde 
To wayte withinn his hall. *** 220 



THE GABERLUNZIE MAN. 



191 



%$t MtxlMiu SJan. 



A SCOTTISH SONG. 



Tradition informs us that the author of 
this song was King James V. of Scotland. 
This prince (whose character for wit and 
libertinism bears a great resemblance to that 
of his gay successor Charles II.) was noted 
for strolling about his dominions in disguise,* 
and for his frequent gallantries with country- 
girls. Two adventures of this kind he hath 
celebrated with his own pen, viz., in .this 
ballad of " The Gaberlunzie Man ;" and in 
another, entitled " The Jolly Beggar," begin- 
ning thus : 

" Thair was a jollie beggar, and a begging 

he was boun, 
And he tuik up his quarters into a land' art 

toun. 

Fa, la, la, &c." 

It seems to be the latter of these ballads 
(which was too licentious to be admitted into 
this collection) that is meant in the Catalogue 
of Royal and Noble Authors,! where the in- 
genious writer remarks, that there is some- 
thing very ludicrous in the young woman's 
distress when she thought her first favour 
had been thrown away upon a beggar. 

Bishop Tanner has attributed to James V. 
the celebrated ballad of " Christ's Kirk on 
the Green," which is ascribed to King James 
I. in Bannatyne's MS. written in 1568 : and 
notwithstanding that authority, the editor of 
this book is of opinion that Bishop Tanner 
was right. 

King James V. died December 13th, 1542, 
aged 33. 

The pauky auld Carle came ovir the lee 
Wi' mony good-eens and days to mee, 
Saying, Good wife, for zour courtesie, 

Will ze lodge a silly poor man? 
The night was cauld, the carle was wat, 5 
And down azout the ingle he sat, 
My dochters shoulders he gan to clap, 

And cadgily ranted and sanjr. 

° _ 

* sc. of a tinker, 1 c_'^:ir. ic. Thus he used to visit a 
smith's daughter at Niddry. near Edinburgh. 
t Vol. II. p. 203. 

25 



wow ! quo he, were I as free, 

As first when I saw this countrie, 10 

How blyth and merry wad I bee ! 

And I wad nevir think lang. 
He grew canty, and she grew fain ; 
But little did her auld minny ken 
What thir slee twa togither were say'n, 15 

When wooing they were sa thrang. 

And ! quo he, ann ze were as black, 
As evir the crown of your dadyes hat, 
Tis I wad lay thee by my back, 

And awa wi' me thou sould gang. 20 

And ! quoth she, ann I were as white, 
As evir the snaw lay on the dike, 
lid dead me braw, and lady-like, 

And awa with thee lid gang. 

Between the twa was made a plot ; 25 

They raise a wee before the cock, 
And wyliely they shot the lock, 

And fast to the bent are they gane. 
Up the morn the auld wife raise, 
And at her leisure put on her claiths, 30 
Syne to the servants bed she gaes 

To speir for the silly poor man. 

She gaed to the bed, whair the beggar lay 

The strae was cauld, he was away, 

She clapt her hands, cryd, Dulefu' day ! 35 

For some of our geir will be gane. 
Some ran to coffer, and some to kist, 
But nought was stown that could be mist. 
She dancid her lane, cryd, Praise be blest, 

I have lodgd a leal poor man. 40 

Since naithings awa, as we can learn, 

The kirns to kirn, and milk to earn, 

Gae butt the house, lass, .and waken my bairn, 

And bid her come quickly ben. 
The servant gaed where the dochterlay, 45 
The sheets was cauld, she was away, 
And fast to her goodwife can say, 

Shes aff with the gaberlunzie-man. 



Yer. 29, The Carline. Other copies. 



192 



ON THOMAS LORD CROMWELL. 



fy gar ride, and fy gar r'm, 

And hast ze, find these traitors agen ; 50 

For shees be burnt, and hecs be slein, 

The wearyfou gaberlunzie-man. 
Some rade upo horse, some ran a fit, 
The wife was wood, and out o' her wit ; 
She could na gang, nor yet could she sit, 55 

But ay did curse and did ban. 

Mean time far hind out owre the lee, 
For snug in a glen, where nane could see, 
The twa, with kindlie sport and glee, 

Cut frae a new cheese a whang. 60 

The priving was gude, it pleas'd them baith, 
To lo'e her for ay, he gae her his aith. 
Quo she, to leave thee, I will be laith, 

My winsome gaberlunzie-man. 



kend my minny I were wi' zou, 65 

Illfardly wad she crook her mou, 
Sic a poor man sheld nevir trow, 

Aftir the gaberlunzie-mon. 
My dear, quo he, zee're zet owre zonge ; 
And hae na learnt the beggars tonge, 70 
To follow me frae toun to toun, 

And carrie the gaberlunzie on. 

Wi' kauk and keel, 111 win zour bread, 
And spindles and whorles for them whaneed, 
Whilk is a gentil trade indeed 75 

The gaberlunzie to carrie — o. 
Ill bow my leg and crook my knee, 
And draw a black clout owre my ee, 
A criple or blind they will cau me : 

While we sail sing and be merrie — o. 



XL 



(Dn %\n\n far^r €xmML 



It is ever the fate of a disgraced minister 
to be forsaken by his friends, and insulted 
by his enemies, always reckoning among the 
latter the giddy inconstant multitude. We 
have here a spurn at fallen greatness from 
some angry partisan of declining Popery, 
who could never forgive the downfall of their 
Diana, and loss of their craft. The ballad 
seems to have been composed between the 
time of Cromwell's commitment to the Tower, 
June 11, 1540, and that of his being beheaded 
July 28, following. A short interval! but 
Henry's passion for Catherine Howard would 
admit of no delay. Notwithstanding our li- 
beller, Cromwell had many excellent quali- 
ties : his great fault was too much obsequi- 
ousness to the arbitrary will of his master ; 
but let it be considered that this master had 
raised him from obscurity, and that the high- 
born nobility had shown him the way in 
every kind of mean and servile compliance. 
— The original copy printed at London in 
1540, is entitled, " A newe ballade made of 
Thomas Crumwel, called Trolle on away." 
To it is prefixed this distich by way of 
burthen, 

Trolle on away, trolle on awaye. 
S} r nge heave and howe rombelowe trolle on 
away. 



Both man and chylde is glad to here tell 
Of that false traytoure Thomas Crumwell, 
Now that he is set to learne to spell. 

Synge trolle on away. 

When fortune lokyd the in thy face, 
Thou haddyst fayre tyme, but thou lackydyst 
grace ; 5 

Thy cofers with golde thou fyllydst a pace. 

Synge, &c. 

Both plate and chalys came to thy fyst, 
Thou lockydst them vp where no man wyst, 
Tyll in the kynges treasoure suche thinges 
were myst. 

Synge, &c. 

Both crust and crumme came thorowe thy 
handes, 10 

Thy marchaundyse sayled over the sandes, 
Therfore nowe thou art layde fast in bandes. 

Synge, &c. 

Fyrste when kynge Henry, God saue his 

grace ? 
Perceyud myschefe kyndlyd in thy face, 
Then it was tyme to purchase the a place. 15 

Synge, &c. 



ON THOMAS LORD CROMWELL. 



193 



Hys grace was euer of gentyll nature, 
Mouyd with petye, and made the hys seruy- 

ture ; 
But thou, as a wretche, suche thinges dyd 

procure. 

Synge, &c. 

Thou dyd not remembre, false heretyke, 
One God, one fayth, and one kynge catholyke, 
For thou hast bene so long a scysmatyke. 21 

Synge, &c. 

Thou woldyst not learne to knowe these thre ; 
But euer was full of iniquite : 
Wherfore all this lande hathe ben troubled 
with the. 

Synge, &c. 

All they, that were of the new trycke, 25 
Agaynst the churche thou baddest them 

stycke ; 
Wherfore nowe thou haste touchyd the 

quycke. 

Synge, &c. 

Bothe sacramentes and sacramentalles 
Thou woldyst not suffre within thy walles ; 
Nor let vs praye for all chrysten soules. 30 

Synge, &c. 

Of what generacyon thou were no tonge can 

tell, 
Whyther of Chayme, or Syschemell, 
Or else sent vs frome the deuyll of hell. 

Synge, &c. 

Tho woldest neuer to vertue applye, 
But couetyd euer to clymme to hye, 35 

And nowe haste thou trodden thy shoo awrye, 

Synge, &c. 

Ver. 32, i. e. Cain or Ishmael. 



Who-so-euer dyd winne thou wolde not lose ; 
Wherfore all Englande doth hate the, as I 

suppose 
Bycause thou wast false to the redolent rose. 

Synge, &c. 

Thou myghtest have learned thy clothe to 
flocke 40 

Upon thy gresy fullers stocke : 

Wherfore lay downe thy heade vpon this 
blocke. 

Synge, &c. 

Yet saue that soule, that God hath bought, 
And for thy carcas care thou nought, 
Let it suffre payne, as it hath wrought. 45 

Synge, &c. 

God saue kyng Henry with all his power, 
And prynce Edwarde that goodly flowre, 
With al hys lordes of great honoure. 

Synge trolle on awaye, syng trolle on away 
Hevye and how rombelowe trolle on awaye. 

flf The foregoing Piece gave rise to a 
poetic controversy, which was carried on 
through a succession of seven or eight Bal- 
lads written for and against Lord Cromwell. 
These are all preserved in the archives of the 
Antiquarian Society, in a large folio Collec- 
tion of Proclamations, &c, made in the reigns 
of King Henry VIII., King Edward VI., 
Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth, King James 
I., &c. 



V. 41, Cromwell'a father is generally said to hare been a 
blacksmith at Putney ; but the author of this Ballad would 
insinuate that either he himself or some of his ancestors 
were Fullers by trade. 



194 HARPALUS. 


XII. 


fnp 


alus. 


AN ANCIENT ENGLISH PASTORAL. 


This beautiful poem, which is perhaps the 


Harpalus prevailed nought, 


first attempt at pastoral -writing in our lan- 


His labour all was lost ; 


guage, is preserved among the " Songs and 


For he was fardest from her thought, 


Sonnettes" of the Earl of Surrey, &c. , 4to., 


And yet he loved her most. 


in that part of the collection which consists 




of pieces by " Uncertain Auetours." These 


Therefore waxt he both pale and leane, 25 


poems were first published in 1557, ten years 


And drye as clot of clay : 


after that accomplished nobleman fell a vic- 


His fleshe it was consumed cleane : 


tim to the tyranny of Henry VIII., but it is 


His colour gone away. 


presumed most of them were composed be- 




fore the death of Sir Thomas Wyatt in 1541. 


His beard it had not long be shave ; 


See Surrey's poems, 4to., fol. 19, 49. 


His heare hong all unkempt: 30 


Though written perhaps near half a cen- 


A man most fit even for the grave, 


tury before the " Shepherd's Calender,"* this 


Whom spitefull love had spent. 


will be found far superior to any of those Ec- 




logues, in natural unaffected sentiments, in 


His eyes were red, and all ' forewacht* 


simplicity of style, in easy flow of versifica- 


His face besprent with teares : 


tion, and all other beauties of pastoral poetry. 


It semde unhap had him long 'hatcht/ 35 


Spenser ought to have profited more by so 


In mids of his dispaires. 


excellent a model. 






His clothes were blacke, and also bare ; 


Phtlida was a faire mayde, 


As one forlorne was he ; 


As frosh as any flowre ; 


Upon his head alwayes he ware 


Whom Harpalus the Herdman prayde 


A wreath of wyllow tree. 40 


To be his paramour. 






His beastes he kept upon the hyll, 


Harpalus, and eke Corin, 5 


And he sate in the dale ; 


Were herdmen both yfere : 


And thus with sighes and sorrowes shril, 


And Phylida could twist and spinne, 


He gan to tell his tale. 


And thereto sing full clere. 




But Phylida was all td coye, 


Oh Harpalus ! (thus would he say) 45 


For Harpalus to winne : 10 
For Corin was her onely joye, 
Who forst her not a pinne. 


Unhappiest under sunne ! 


The cause of thine unhappy day, 


By love was first begunne. 


How often would she flowers twine ? 


For thou wentest first by sute to seeke 


How often garlandcs make 


A tigre to make tame, 50 


Of couslips and of colombine ? 15 


That settes not by thy love a leeke ; 


And al for Corin's sake. 


But makes thy griefe her game. 


But Corin, he had haukes to lure, 


As easy it were for to convert 


And forced more the field : 


The frost into ' a' flame ; 


Of lovers lawe he toke no cure ; 


As for to turne a frowarde hert, 55 


For once he was begilde. 20 


Whom thou so faine wouldst frame. 


* First published in 1579. 


Yer. 33, &c. The corrections are from Ed. 1574. 



ROBIN AND MAKYNE. 



195 



Corin he liveth carelesse : 

He leapes among the leaves : 
He eates the frutes of thy redresse: 

Thou ' reapst/ he takes the sheaves. 60 

My beastes, a whyle your foode refraine, 
And harke your herdmans sounde ; 

Whom spitefull love, alas ! hath slaine, 
Through-girt with many a wounde. 

happy be ye, beastes wilde, 65 
That here your pasture takes : 

1 se that ye be not begilde 

Of these your faithfull makes. 

The hart he feedeth by the hinde : 

The bucke harde by the do : 70 

The turtle dove is not unkinde 
To him that loves her so. 

The ewe she hath by her the ramme ; 

The young cow hath the bull : 
The calfe with many a lusty lambe 75 

Do fede their hunger full. 

But, well-away ! that nature wrought 

The, Phylida, so faire: 
For I may say that I have bought 

Thy beauty all to- deare. 80 



What reason is that crueltie 
With beautie should have part ? 

Or els that such great tyranny 
Should dwell in womans hart ? 

I see therefore to shape my death 85 

She cruelly is prest ; 
To th' ende that I may want my breath : 

My dayes been at the best. 

Cupide, graunt this my request, 

And do not stoppe thine eares, 90 

That she may feele within her brest 
The paines of my dispaires : 

Of Corin • who' is carelesse, 

That she may crave her fee : 
As I have done in great distresse, 95 

That loved her faithfully. 

But since that I shal die her slave ; 

Her slave, and eke her thrall : 
Write you, my frendes, upon my grave 

This chaunce that is befall. 100 

" Here lieth unhappy Harpalus 

By cruell love now slaine : 
Whom Phylida unjustly thus 

Hath murdred with disdaine." 



XIII. 



tynYm anfo UJaltP*. 



AN ANCIENT SCOTTISH PASTORAL. 



The palm of pastoral poesy is here con- 
tested by a contemporary writer with the 
author of the foregoing. The critics will 
judge of their respective merits ; but must 
make some allowance for the preceding bal- 
lad, which is given simply as it stands in 
the old editions : whereas this, which follows, 
has been revised and amended throughout by 
Allan Ramsay, from whose " Ever-Green," 
Vol. I., it is here chiefly printed. The curious 
reader may however compare it with the 
more original copy, printed among " Ancient 
Scottish Poems, from the MS. of George Ban- 
natyne, 1568, Edinb. 1770, 12mo." Mr. Ro- 



bert Henry son (to whom we are indebted for 
this poem) appears to so much advantage 
among the writers of eclogue, that we are 
sorry we can give little other account of him 
besides what is contained in the following 
eloge, written by W. Dunbar, a Scottish poet 
who lived about the middle of the 16th cen- 
tury : 

" In Dumferling, he [Death] hath tane Broun, 
With gude Mr. Robert Henryson." 

Indeed some little further insight into the 
history of this Scottish bard is gained from 



196 



ROBIN AND MAKYNE. 



the title prefixed to some of his poems pre- 
served in the British Museum ; viz., " The 
morall Fabillis of Esop compylit be Maister 
Robert Henrisoun, Scolmaister of Dumferm- 
ling, 1571." Harleian MSS. 3865, \ 1. 

In Ramsay's " Ever-Green," Vol. I., whence 
the above distich is extracted, are preserved 
two other little Doric pieces by Henryson ; 
the one entitled " The Lyon and the Mouse," 
the other " The Garment of Gude Ladyis." 
Some other of his poems may be seen in the 
" Ancient Scottish Poems printed from Ban- 
natyne's MS.," above referred to. 

Robin sat on the gude grene hill, 

Koipand a flock of fie, 
Quhen mirry Makyne said him till, 

" Robin, rew on me : 
I haif thee luivt baith loud and still, 5 

Thir towmonds twa or thre ; 
My dule in dern bot giff thou dill, 

Doubtless but dreid 111 die." 



10 



Robin replied, Now by the rude, 

Naithing of luve I knaw, 
But keip my sheip undir yon wod : 

Lo quhair they raik on raw. 
Quhat can have mart thee in thy mude, 

Thou Makyne to me schaw ; 
Or quhat is luve, or to be lude ? 15 

Fain wald I leir that law. 



" The law of luve gin thou wald leir, 

Tak thair an A, B, C ; 
Be heynd, courtas, and fair of feir, 

Wyse, hardy, kind and frie, 
Sae that nae danger do the deir, 

Quhat dule in dern thou drie ; 
Press ay to pleis and blyth appeir, 

Be patient and privie." 



Robin, he answert her againe, 

I wat not quhat is luve ; 
But I haif marvel in certaine 

Quhat makes thee thus wanrufe. 
The wedder is fair, and I am fain ; 

My sheep gais hail abuve ; 
And sould we pley us on the plain. 

They wald us baith repruve. 



20 



20 



30 



Ver. 19, Batmatyne's MS. reads as above, heynd, not 
heynd, as in the Edinb. edit. 1770. V. 21, So that no danger. 
Bannaty ne's MS. 



" Robin, tak tent unto my tale, 

And wirk all as I reid ; 
And thou sail haif my heart all hale 35 

Eik and my maiden-he id : 
Sen God, he sendis bute for bale, 

And for murning remeid, 
I'dern with thee bot gif I dale, 

Doubtless I am but deid." 40 

Makyne, to-morn be this ilk tyde, 

Gif ye will meit me heir, 
Maybe my sheip may gang besyde, 

Quhyle we have liggd full neir : 
But maugre haif I, gif I byde, t 45 

Frae thay begin to steir, 
Quhat lyes on heart I will nocht hyd, 

Then Makyne mak gude cheir. 

"Robin, thou reivs me of my rest; 

I luve bot thee alane." 50 

Makyne, adieu ! the sun goes west, 

The day is neir-hand gane. 
" Robin, in dule I am so drest, 

That luve will be my bane." 
Makyne, gae luve quhair-eir ye list, 55 

For leman I luid nane. 

" Robin, I stand in sic a style, 

I sich and that full sair." 
Makyne, I have bene here this quyle ; 

At hame I wish I were. 60 

" Robin, my hinny, talk and smyle, 

Gif thou will do nae mair." 
Makyne, som other man beguyle, 

For hameward I will fare. 

Syne Robin on his ways he went, 65 

As light as leif on tree .; 
But Makyne murnt and made lament, 

Scho trow'd him neir to see. 
Robin he brayd attowre the bent : 

Then Makyne cried on hie, 70 

" Now may thou sing, for I am shent! 

Quhat ailis luve at me V 

Makyne went hame withouten fail, 

And weirylie could weip ; 
Then Robin in a full fair dale 75 

Assemblit all his sheip. 
Be that some part of Makyne's ail, 

Out-throw his heart could creip ; 
Hir fast he followt to assail, 

And till her tuke gude keip. 80 



GENTLE HERDSMAN. 



197 



Abyd, abyd, thou fair Makyne, 

A word for ony thing ; 
For all my luve, it sail be thyne, 

Withouten departing. 
All hale thy heart for till have myne, 85 

Is all my coveting ; 
My sheip to morn quhyle houris nyne, 

Will need of nae keiping. 

" Robin, thou hast heard sung and say, 

In gests and storys auld, 90 

The man that will not when he may, 

Sail have nocht when he wald. 
I pray to heaven baith nicht and day, 

Be eiked their cares sae cauld, 
That presses first with thee to play, 95 

Be forrest, firth, or fauld." 

Makyne, the nicht is soft and dry, 

The wether warm and fair, 
And the grene wod richt neir-hand by, 

To walk attowre all where : 
There may nae j anglers us espy, 

That is in luve contrair ; 
Therin, Makyne, baith you and I 

Unseen may mak repair. 



100 



" Robin, that warld is now away, 105 

And quyt brocht till an end: 
And nevir again thereto, perfay, 

Sail it be as thou wend ; 
For of my pain thou made but play ; 

I words in vain did spend : 110 

As thou hast done, sae sail I say, 

Murn on, I think to mend." 

Makyne, the hope of all my heil, 

My heart on thee is set ; 
I'll evermair to thee be leil, 115 

Quhyle I may live but lett, 
Never to fail as uthers feill, 

Quhat grace so eir I get. 
" Robin, with thee I will not deill ; 

Adieu, for this we met." 120 

Makyne went hameward blyth enough, 

Outowre the holtis hair ; 
Pure Robin murnd, and Makyne leugh ; 

Scho sang, and he sicht sair : 
And so left him bayth wo and wreuch, 

In dolor and in care, 126 

Keipand his herd under a heuch, 

Amang the rushy gair. 



XIV. 

§n\\U Itfbsman, Ml to Ife. 



DIALOGUE BETWEEN A PILGRIM AND HERDSMAN. 



The scene of this beautiful old ballad is 
laid near Walsingham, in Norfolk, where was 
anciently an image of the Virgin Mary, fa- 
mous over all Europe for the numerous pil- 
grimages made to it, and the great riches it 
possessed. Erasmus has given a very exact 
and humorous description of the superstitions 
practised there in his time. (See his account 
of the "Virgo Parathalasia," in his colloquy 
entitled, " Peregrinatio Religionis Ergo." He 
tells us, the rich offerings in silver, gold, and 
precious stones, that were there shown him, 
were incredible, there being scarce a person of 
any note in England, but what some time or 
other paid a visit or sent a present to " Our 



Lady of Walsingham."* At the dissolution 
of the monasteries in 1538, this splendid 
image, with another from Ipswich, was car- 
ried to Chelsea, and there burnt in the pre- 
sence of commissioners ; who, we trust, did 
not burn the jewels and the finery. 

This poem is printed from a copy in the 
editor's folio MS. which had greatly suffered 
by the hand of time ; but vestiges of several 
of the lines remaining, some conjectural sup- 
plements have been attempted, which, for 
greater exactness, are in this one ballad dis- 
tinguished by italics. 




V. 117, Baimatyne's MS. reads as above feill, no faill, as 
in Ed. 1770. 

* See at the end of this Ballad an account of the annual 
offerings of the Earls of Northumberland. 



198 



GENTLE HERDSMAN. 



Gentle heardsman, tell to me, 

Of curtesy I thee pray, 
Unto the towne of Walsingham 

Which is the right and ready way. 

" Unto the towne of "Walsingham 
The way is hard for to be gon ; 

And verry crooked are those pathes 
For you to find out all alone." 

Weere the miles doubled thrise, 

And the way never so ill, 
Itt -were not enough for mine offence, 

Itt is soe grievous and soe ill. 



10 



" Thy yeeares are young, thy face is faire, 
Thy witts are weake, thy thoughts are 
greene ; 

Time hath not given thee leave, as yett, 15 
For to committ so great a sinne." 

Yes, heardsman, yes, soe woldest thou say, 

If thou knewest soe much as I ; 
My witts, and thoughts, and all the rest, 

Have well deserved for to dye. 20 

I am not what I seeme to bee, 

My clothes and sexe doe differ farr : 

I am a woman, woe is me ! 

Born to greeffe and irksome care. 

For my beloved, and well-beloved, 25 

My wayward cruelty could kill: 
Aivd though my teares will nought avail, 

Most dearely I bewail him still. 

He was the flower of noble wights, 

None ever more sincere colde bee ; 30 

Of comely mien and shape hee was, 
And tenderlye hee loved mee. 

When thus I saw he Zoved me well, 
I grewe so proud 7iis pame to see, 

That 1, who did not know myselfe, 35 

Thought scorne of such a youth as hee. 

*And grew soe coy and nice to please, 
As women's lookes are often soe, 

He might not kisse, nor hand forsooth, 
Unlesse I willed him soe to doe. 40 



* Three of the following stanzas have been finely para- 
phrased by Dr. Goldsmith, in his charming ballad of 
"Edwin and Emma;" the reader of taste will have a 
pleasure in comparing them with the original. 



Thus being wearyed with delayes 

To see I pittycd not his greeffe, 
He gott him to a secrett place, 

And there he dyed without releeffe. 

And for his sake these weeds I weare, 45 

And sacriffice my tender age ; 
And every day He begg my bread, 

To undergo this pilgrimage. 

Thus every day I fast and pray 

And ever will doe till I dye ; 50 

And gett me to some secrett place, 

For soe did hee, and soe will I. 

Now, gentle heardsman, aske no more, 
But keepe my secretts I thee pray : 

Unto the towne of Walsingham 55 

Show me the right and readye way. 

" Now goe thy wayes, and God before ! 

For he must ever guide thee still : 
Turne downe that dale, the right hand path, 

And soe, faire pilgrim, fare thee well!" 

*** To show what constant tribute was 
paid to " Our Lady of Walsingham," I shall 
give a few extracts from the " Household 
Book of Henry Algernon Percy, 5th Earl of 
Northumberland." Printed 1770, 8vo. 

Sect. XLIIL, page 337, &c. 

Item, My Lorde usith yerly to send afor Mi- 
chaelmas for his Lordschip's Offerynge to 
our Lady of Walsyngeham. — iiij d. 

Item, My Lorde usith ande accustumyth to 
sende yerely for the unholdynge of the 
Light of Wax which his Lordschip fyndith 
birnynge yerly befor our Lady of Wal- 
syngham, contenynge xj lb. of Wax in it 

' And' still I try'd each fickle art, 

Importunate and vain ; 
And while his passion, touch'd my heart, 

I triumph'd in his pain. 

'Till quite dejected with my scorn 

He left me to my pride ; 
And sought a solitude forlorn, 

In secret, where he dy'd. 

But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, 

And well my life shall pay; 
I'll seek the solitude he sought, 

And stretch me where he lay. 

And there forlorn despairing hid, 

I'll lay me down and die : 
'Twas so for me that Edwin did, 

And so for him will I. 



KING EDWARD IV. AND THE TANNER OF TAMWORTH. 



199 



after vij d. ob. for the fyndynge of every 
lb. redy wrought by a covenaunt maid with 
the Channon by great, for the hole yere, 
for the fyndinge of the said Lyght byrn- 
ning, — vi s. viiij d. 
Item, My Lorde usith and accustomith to 
syende yerely to the Channon that kepith 
the Light before our Lady of Walsyngham, 



for his reward for the hole yere, for kep- 
ynge of the said Light, lightynge of it at 
all service tyrues dayly thorowt the yere, — 
xij d. 
Item, My Lorde usith and accustomyth yerely 
to send to the Prest that kepith the Light, 
lyghtynge of it at all service tymes daily 
thorowt the yere, — iij s. iiij d. 



XV. 



fling Ctorarfo p. n\ % %nm at % amtatrrtj! 



Was a story of great fame among our an- 
cestors. The author of the " Art of English 
Poesie," 1589, 4to., seems to speak of it as a 
real fact. Describing that vicious mode of 
speech, which the Greeks called Actron, i. e. 
" When we use a dark and obscure word, ut- 
terly repugnant to that we should express ;" 
he adds, " Such manner of uncouth speech 
did the Tanner of Tamworth use to King Ed- 
ward the Fourth ; which Tanner, having a 
great while mistaken him, and used very 
broad talke with him, at length perceiving by 
his traine that it was the king, was afraide he 
should be punished for it, [and] said thus, 
with a certain rude repentance, 

"I hope I shall be hanged to-morrow," 

for [I feare me] I shall be hanged; whereat 
the king laughed a good,* not only to see the 
Tanner's vaine feare, but also to heare his 
illshapen terme: and gave him for recom- 
pence of his good sport, the inheritance of 
Plumpton-parke. ' I am afraid,' " concludes 
this sagacious writer, " ' the poets of our 
times that speake more finely and correctedly, 
will come too short of such a reward,' " p. 214. 
The phrase here referred to, is not found in 
this ballad at present,f but occurs with some 
variation in another old poem, entitled, "John 
the Reeve," described in the following vol- 
ume (see the Preface to " The King and the 
Miller"), viz. : 

" Nay, sayd John, by Gods grace, 
And Edward wer in this place, 

* Vid. Gloss. 

t Nor in that of tbe Barker mentioned below. 

26 



Hee shold not touch this tonne : 
He wold be wroth with John I hope, 
Therefibre I beshrewe the soupe, 

That in his mouth shold come." 

Pt. 2, st. 24. 

The following text is selected (with such 
other corrections as occurred) from two copies 
in black letter. The one in the Bodleyan 
library, entitled, "A merrie, pleasant, and 
delectable historie betweene King Edward the 
Fourth, and a Tanner of Tamworth, &c, 
printed at London, by John Danter, 1596." 
This copy, ancient as it now is, appears to 
have been modernized and altered at the time 
it was published ; and many vestiges of the 
more ancient readings were recovered from 
another copy (though more recently printed) 
in one sheet folio, without date, in the Pepys 
collection. 

But these are both very inferior in point 
of antiquity to the old ballad of " The King 
and the Barker," reprinted with other " Pieces 
of Ancient Popular Poetry from Authentic 
Manuscripts, and old Printed Copies, &c, 
London, 1791, 8vo." As that very antique 
Poem had never occurred to the Editor of the 
Reliques, till he saw it in the above collec- 
tion, he now refers the curious reader to it, 
as an imperfect and incorrect copy of the old 
original ballad. 

In summer time, when leaves grow greene, 

And blossoms bedecke the tree, 
King Edward wolde a hunting ryde, 

Some pastime for to see. 

With hawke and hounde he made him bowne, 
With home, and eke with bowe ; 



200 



KING EDWARD IV. AND THE TANNER OF TAMWORTH. 



To Dray tun Basset he touke his waye, 
With all his lordes a rowe. 

And he had ridden ore dale and downe 
By eight of clocke in the day, 

When he was ware of a bold tanner, 
Come ryding along the waye. 

A fayre russet coat the tanner had on 
Fast buttoned under his chin, 

And under him a good cow-hide, 
And a mare of four shilling.* 



10 



l;» 



Nowe stand you still, my good lordes all, m 

Under the grene wood spraye ; 
And I will wend to yonder fellowe, 

To weet what he will saye. 20 

God speede, God speede thee, sayd our king. 

Thou art welcome, sir, sayd hee. 
" The readyest waye to Drayton Basset 

I praye thee to shewe to mee." 

" To Drayton Basset woldst thou goe, 25 
Fro the place where thou dost stand ? 

The next payre of gallowes thou comest unto, 
Turne in upon thy right hand." 

That is an unreadye waye, sayd our king, 
Thou doest but jest I see ; 30 

Nowe shewe me out the nearest waye, 
And I pray the wend with mee. 

Awaye with a vengeaunce ! quoth the tanner : 

I hold thee out of thy witt : 
All daye have I rydden on Brocke my mare, 

And I am fasting yett. 36 

" Go with me downe to Drayton Basset, 

No daynties we will spare ; 
All daye shalt thou eate and drinke of the best, 

And I will paye thy fare." 40 

Gramercye for nothing, the tanner replyde, 

Thou payest no fare of mine : 
I trowe I've more nobles in my purse, 

Than thou hast pence in thine. 



* In the reign of Edward IV. Dame Ceeili, lady of Tor- 
boke, in her will dated March 7, A. D. 1466, among many 
other bequests, has this, " Also I will that my sonno Tin 'in as 
of Torboke have 13s. 4d. to buy him an horse." Vid. Har- 
leian Catalog. 2176, 27. — Now if 13s. id. would purchase a 
steed fit for a person of quality, a tanner's horse might 
reasonably be valued at four or five shillings. 



God give thee joy of them, sayd the king, 45 

And send them well to priefe. 
The tanner wolde fame have beene away, 

For he weende he had beene a thiefe. 

What art thou, hee sayde, thou fine felldwe, 
Of tliee I am in great feare, 50 

For the cloathes, thou wearest upon thy backe, 
Might beseeme a lord to weare. 

I never stole them, quoth our king, 

I tell you, sir, by the roode. 
" Then thou playest, as many an unthrift 
doth, 55 

And standest in midds of thy goode."* 

What tydinges heare you, sayd the kynge, 

As you ryde farre and neare ? 
" I heare no tydinges, sir, by the masse, 

But that cowe-hides are deare." 60 

" Cowe-hides ! cowe-hides ! what things are 
those ? 

I marvell what they bee ?" 
What art thou a foole ? the tanner reply'd ; 

I carry one under mee. 

What craftsman art thou, said the king, 65 

I praye thee tell me trowe. 
" I am a barker,! sir, by my trade ; 

Nowe tell me what art thou ?" 

I am a poore courtier, sir, quoth he, 

That am forth of service worne ; 70 

And faine I wolde thy prentise bee, 
Thy cunninge for to learne. 

Marrye heaven forfend, the tanner replyde, 

That thou my prentise were : 
Thou woldst spend more good than I shold 
winne 75 

By fortye shilling a yere. 

Yet one thing wolde I, sayd our king, 
If thou wilt not seeme strange : 

Thoughe my horse be better than thy mare, 
Yet with thee I faine wold change. 80 

" Why if with me thou faine wilt change, 
As change full well maye wee, 

* i. e. hast no other wealth, but what thou carrieat about 
thee, 
t i. e. a dealer in bark. 



KING EDWARD IV. AND THE TANNER OF TAMWORTH. 



201 



By the faith of my bodye, thou proude fel- 
ldwe, 
I will have some boot of thee." 

That were against reason, sayd the king, 85 

I sweare, so mote I thee : 
My horse is better than thy mare, 

And that thou well mayst see. 

" Yea, sir, but Brocke is gentle and mild, 
And softly she will fare : 90 

Thy horse is unrulye and wild, I wiss ; 
Aye skipping here and theare." 

What boote wilt thou have? our king re- 
ply'd ; 

Now tell me in this stound. 
" Noe pence, nor half-pence, by my faye, 95 

But a noble in gold so round." 

" Here's twentye groates of white moneye, 

Sith thou wilt have it of mee." 
I would have sworne now, quoth the tanner, 

Thou hadst not had one pennie. 100 

But since we two have made a change, 

A change we must abide, 
Although thou hast gotten Brocke my mare, 

Thou gettest not my cow-hide. 

I will not have it, sayd the kynge, 105 

I sweare, so mought I thee ; 
Thy foule cowe-hide I wolde not beare, 

If thou woldst give it to mee. 

The tanner hee tooke his good cowe-hide, 
That of the cow was hilt ; 110 

And threwe it upon the king's sadelle, 
That was soe fay rely e gilte. 

" Now help me up, thou fine fellowe, 

'Tis time that I were gone : 
When I come home to Gyllian my wife, 115 

Sheel say I am a gentilmon." 

The king he tooke him up by the legge ; 

The tanner a f * * lett fall. 
Nowe marrye, good fellowe, sayd the kyng, 

Thy courtesye is but small. 120 

When the tanner he was in the kinges sa- 
delle, 

And his foote in his stirrup was ; 
He marvelled greatlye in his minde, 

Whether it were golde or brass. 



But when his steede saw the cows taile wagge, 
And eke the blacke cowe-horne ; 126 

He stamped, and stared, and awaye he ranne, 
As the devill had him borne. 

The tanner he pulld, the tanner he sweat, 
And held by the pummil fast : 130 

At length the tanner came tumbling downe ; 
His necke he had well-nye brast. 

Take thy horse again with a vengeance, he 



With mee he shall not byde. 
" My horse wolde have borne thee well 
enoughe, 135 

But he knewe not of thy cowe-hide. 

" Yet if agayne thou fayne woldst change, 

As change full well may wee, 
By the faith of my bodye, thou jolly tanner, 

I will have some boote of thee." 140 

What boote wilt thou have, the tanner replyd, 

Nowe tell me in this stounde ? 
" Noe pence nor halfpence, sir, by my faye, 

But I will have twentye pound." 

" Here's twentye groates out of my purse ; 

And twentye I have of thine : 146 

And I have one more, which we will spend 

Together at the wine." 

The king set a bugle home to his mouthe, 
And blewe both loude and shrille : 150 

And soone came lords, and soone came 
knights, 
Fast ryding over the hille. 

Nowe, out alas ! the tanner he cryde, 

That ever I sawe this daye ! 
Thou art a strong thiefe, yon come thy fel- 
lowes 

Will beare my cowe-hide away. 156 

They are no thieves, the king replyde, 

I sweare, soe mote I thee : 
But they are the lords of the north countrey, 

Here come to hunt with mee. 160 

And soone before our king they came, 
And knelt downe on the grounde : 

Then might the tanner have beene awaye, 
And had lever than twentye pounde, 



202 



AS YE CAME FROM THE HOLY LAND. 



A collor, a coller, here : sayd the king, 165 

A coller he loud gan crye : 
Then woulde he lever then twentye pound, 

He had not beene so nighe. 



A coller, a coller, the tanner he sayd, 
I trowe it will breed sorrowe : 

After a coller commeth a halter, 
I trow I shall be hanged to-morrowe. 

Be not afraid, tanner, said our king ; 
I tell thee, so mought I thee, 



170 



Lo here I make thee the best esquire 
That is in the North countrie.* 



175 



For Plumpton-parke I will give thee, 

With tenements faire beside : 
'Tis worth three hundred markes by the 
yeare, 

To maintaine thy good cowe-hide. 180 

Gramercye, my liege, the tanner replyde, 
For the favour thou hast me shown e ; 

If ever thou comest to merry Tanrwdrth, 
Neates leather shall clout thy shoen. 



XVI. 



gs it mm ixm \\t f 0lg faito. 



DIALOGUE BETWEEN A PILGRIM AND TRAVELLER. 



The scene of this song is the same as in 
Num. XIV. The pilgrimage to Walsingham 
suggested the plan of many popular pieces. 
In the Pepys collection, vol. I., p. 226, is a 
kind of interlude in the old ballad style, of 
which the first stanza alone is worth reprint- 
ing. 

As I went to "Walsingham, 

To the shrine with speede, 
Met I with a jolly palmer 

In a pilgrimes weede. 
Now God you save, you jolly palmer ! 

" Welcome, lady gay, 
Oft have I sued to thee for love." 

— Oft have I said you nay. 

The pilgrimages undertaken on pretence of 
religion, were often productive of affairs of 
gallantry, and led the votaries to no other 
shrine than that of Venus.* 

The following ballad was once very popu- 
lar ; it is quoted in Fletcher's " Knight of the 
burning pestle," Act. II., sc. ult., and in ano- 
ther old play, called, " Hans Beer-pot, his 

* Even in the time of Langland, pilgrimages to Walsing- 
ham were not unfavourable to the rites of Venus. Thus 
in his Virions of Pierce Plowman, fo. I. 

" Hermcts on a heape, with hoked staves, 
Wenten to Walsingham, and her f wenches after." 

f L e. their. 



invisible Comedy, &c." 4to. 1618: Act I. 
The copy below was communicated to the 
Editor by the late Mr. Shenstone as corrected 
by him from an ancient copy, and supplied 
with a concluding stanza. 

We have placed this, and " Gentle Herds- 
man," &c., thus early in the work, upon a 
presumption that they must have been writ- 
ten, if not before the dissolution of the 
monasteries, yet while the remembrance of 
them was fresh in the minds of the people. 

As ye came from the holy land 

Of blessed Walsingham, 
met you not with my true love 

As by the way ye came ? 



* This stanza is restored from a quotation of this Ballad 
in Selden's " Titles of Honour," who produces it as a good 
authority to prove, that one mode of creating Esquires at 
that time, was by the imposition of a collar. His words 
are, " Nor is that old pamphlet of the Tanner of Tamworth 
and King Edward the Fourth so contemptible, but that wee 
may thence note also an observable passage, wherein the 
use of making Esquires, by giving collars, is expressed." 
(Sub Tit. Esquire ; & vide in Spelmanni Glossar. Armiger.) 
This form of creating Esquires actually exists at this day 
among the Sergeants at Arms, who are invested with a 
collar (which they wear on Collar Days) by the King 
himself. 

This information I owe to Samuel Pegge, Esq., to whom 
the Public is indebted for that curious work, the " Curi- 
alia," 4to. 



HARDYKNUTE. 



203 



" How should I know your true love, 5 

That have met many a one, 
As I came from the holy land, 

That have both come, and gone ?" 

My love is neither white,* nor browne, 
But as the heavens faire ; 10 

There is none hath her form divine, 
Either in earth, or ayre. 

" Such an one did I meet, good sir, 

With an angelicke face ; 
Who like a nymphe, a queene appeard 15 

Both in her gait, her grace." 

Yes : she hath cleane forsaken me, 

And left me all alone ; 
Who some time loved me as her life, 

And called me her owne. 20 

" What is the cause she leaves thee thus, 

And a new way doth take, 
That some times loved thee as her life, 

And thee her joy did make V 



25 



I that loved her all my youth, 
Growe old now as you see ; 

Love liketh not the falling fruite, 
Nor yet the withered tree. 



For love is like a carelesse childe, 

Forgetting promise past : 30 

He is blind, or deaf, whenere he list ; 
His faith is never fast. 



His fond desire is fickle found, 
And yieldes a trustlesse joye ; 

Wonne with a world of toil and care, 
And lost ev'n with a toye. 



35 



Such is the love of womankinde, 
Or Loves faire name abusde, 

Beneathe which many vaine desires, 
And follyes are excusde. 

' But true love is a lasting fire, 
Which viewless vestals* tend, 

That burnes for ever in the soule, 
And knowes nor change, nor end.' 



40 



XVII. 

fjar&gluuttc. 

A SCOTTISH FRAGMENT. 



As this fine morsel of heroic poetry hath 
generally passed for ancient, it is here thrown 
to the end of our earliest pieces ; that such as 
doubt of its age, may the better compare it 
with other pieces of genuine antiquity. For 
after all, there is more than reason to suspect, 
that it owes most of its beauties (if not its 
whole existence) to the pen of a lady, within 
the present century. The following particu- 
lars may be depended on. Mrs. Wardlaw, 
whose maiden name was Halket (aunt to the 
late Sir Peter Halket, of Pitferran, in Scot- 
land, who was killed in America, along with 
General Braddock,in 1755), pretended she had 
found this poem, written on shreds of paper, 
employed for what is called the bottoms of 
clues. A suspicion arose that it was her own 

* sc. pale. 



composition. Some able judges asserted it to 
be modern. The lady did in a manner ac- 
knowledge it to be so. Being desired to show 
an . additional stanza, as a proof of this, she 
produced the two last, beginning with 
"There's nae light," &c, which were not in 
the copy that was first printed. The late 
Lord President Forbes, and Sir Gilbert Elliot, 
of Minto (late Lord Justice Clerk for Scot- 
land), who had believed it ancient, contributed 
to the expense of publishing the first Edition, 
in folio, 1719. This account was transmitted 
from Scotland by Sir David Dalrymple, the 
late Lord Hailes, who yet was of opinion, 
that part of the ballad may be ancient ; but 
retouched and much enlarged by the lady 
above mentioned. Indeed he had been in- 

* bc. Angels. 



204 



HARDYKNUTE. 



formed, that the late William Thompson, the 
Scottish musician, who published the "Or- 
pheus Caledonius," 1733, 2 vols. 8vo., de- 
clared he had heard Fragments of it repeated 
in his infancy, before Mrs. Wardlaw's copy 
was heard of. 

The Poem is here printed from the original 
Edition, as it was prepared for the press with 
the additional improvements. (See below, 
page 208.) 

I. 

Stately stept he east the wa', 

And stately stept he west, 
Full seventy years he now had seen, 

Wi' scarce seven years of rest. 
He liv'd when Britons breach of faith 5 

Wrought Scotland mickle wae : 
And ay his sword tauld to their cost, 

He was their deadlye fae 



High on a hill his castle stood, 

With ha's and tow'rs a height 
And goodly chambers fair to se, 

Where he lodged mony a knight. 
His dame sae peerless anes and fair, 

For chast and beauty deem'd 
Nae marrow had in all the land, 

Save Elenor the queen. 



10 



15 



Full thirteen sons to him she bare, 

All men of valour stout : 
In bloody fight with sword in hand 

Nine lost their lives bot doubt : 20 

Four yet remain, lang may they live 

To stand by liege and land ; 
High was their fame, high was their might, 

And high was their command. 



Great love they bare to Fairly fair 

Their sister saft and dear, 
Her girdle shaw'd her middle gimp, 

And gowden glist her hair. 
What waefu' wae her beauty bred ! 

Waefu' to young and auld, 
Waefu' I trow to kyth and kin, 

As story ever tauld. 



The King of Norse in summer tyde, 
Puff'd up with pow'r and might, 



25 



30 



Landed in fair Scotland the isle 35 

With mony a hardy knight. 
The tydings to our good Scots king 

Came, as he sat at dine, 
With noble chiefs in brave aray, 

Drinking the blood-red wine. 40 



" To horse, to horse, my royal liege, 

Your faes stand on the strand, 
Full twenty thousand glittering spears 

The king of Norse commands." 
Bring me my steed Mage dapple gray, 4 5 

Our good king rose and cry'd, 
A trustier beast in a' the land 

A Scots king nevir try'd. 



Go little page, tell Hardyknute, 

That lives on hill sae hie, 50 

To draw his sword, the dread of faes, 

And haste and follow me. 
The little page flew swift as dart 

Flung by his master's arm, 
" Come down, come down, lord Hardyknute, 

And rid your king frae harm." 56 



Then red red grew his dark brown cheeks, 

Sae did his dark-brown brow ; 
His looks grew keen as they were wont 

In dangers great to do ; 60 

He's ta'en a horn as green as glass, 

And gi'en five sounds sae shill, 
That trees in green wood shook thereat, 

Sae loud rang ilka hill. 



His sons in manly sport and glee, 65 

Had past that summer's morn, 
When low down in a grassy dale, 

They heard their father's horn. 
That horn, quo' they, ne'er sounds in peace, 

We've other sport to bide. 70 

And soon they hy'd them up the hill, 

And soon were at his side. 



" Late late the yestreen I ween'd in peace 

To end my lengthened life, 
My age might well excuse my arm 75 

Frae manly feats of strife, 
But now that Norse do's proudly boast 

Fair Scotland to inthrall, 



HARDYKNUTE. 



205 



It's ne'er be said of Hardyknute, 

He fear'd to fight or fall. 80 



" Robin of Rothsay, bend thy bow, 

Thy arrows shoot sae leel, 
That mony a comely countenance 

They've turned to deadly pale. 
Brade Thomas, take you but your lance, 85 

You need nae weapons mair, 
If you fight wi't as you did anes 

'Gainst Westmoreland's fierce heir. 



" And Malcolm, light of foot as stag 

That runs in forest wild, 90 

Get me my thousands three of men 

Well bred to sword and shield : 
Bring me my horse and harnisine, 

My blade of mettal clear. 
If faes but ken'd the hand it bare, 95 

They soon had fled for fear. 



" Farewell my dame sae peerless good, 

(And took her by the hand), 
Fairer to me in age you seem, 

Than maids for beauty fain'd. 100 

My youngest son shall here remain 

To guard these stately towers, 
And shut the silver bolt that keeps 

Sae fast your painted bowers." 



And first she wet her comely cheiks, 105 

And then her boddice green, 
Her silken cords of twirtle twist, 

Well plett with silver sheen ; 
And apron set with mony a dice 

Of needle-wark sae rare, 110 

Wove by nae hand, as ye may guess, 

Save that of Fairly fair. 



And he has ridden o'er muir and moss, 

O'er hills and mony a glen, 
When he came to a wounded knight 115 

Making a heavy mane ; 
" Here maun I lye, here maun I dye, 

By treacherie's false guiles ; 
Witless I was that e'er ga faith 

To wicked woman's smiles." 120 



" Sir knight, gin you were in my bower, 

To lean on silken seat, 
My lady's kindly care you'd prove, 

Who ne'er knew deadly hate. 
Herself wou'd watch you a' the day, 125 

Her maids a dead of night ; 
And Fairly fair your heart wou'd chear, 

As she stands in your sight. 



"Arise, young knight, and mount your stead ; 

Full lowns the shynand day : 130 

Choose frae my menzie whom ye please 

To lead you on the way." 
With smileless look, and visage wan, 

The wounded knight reply'd, 
" Kind chieftain, your intent pursue, 135 

For here I maun abyde. 



To me nae after day nor night 

Can e're be sweet or fair, 
But soon beneath some draping tree, 

Cauld death shall end my care." 140 

With him nae pleading might prevail ; 

Brave Hardyknute to gain 
With fairest words, and reason strong, 

Strave courteously in vain. 



Syne he has gane far hynd out o'er 

Lord Chattan's land sae wide ; 
That lord a worthy wight was ay 

When faes his courage sey'd : 
Of Pictish race by mother's side, 

When Picts rul'd Caledon, 
Lord Chattan claim'd the princely maid, 

When he sav'd Pictish crown, 



145 



150 



Now with his fierce and stalwart train, 

He reach'd a rising hight, 
Quhair braid encampit on the dale, 

Norss menzie lay in sicht. 
" Yonder my valiant sons and feirs 

Our raging revers wait 
On the unconquert Scottish sward 

To try with us their fate. 



Make orisons to him that sav'd 
Our sauls upon the rude ; 



155 



160 



200 



IIARDYKNUTE. 



Syne bravely shaw your veins are fill'd 

With Caledonian blude." 
Then furth he drew his trusty glave, 165 

While thousands all around 
Drawn frae their sheaths glanc'd in the sun; 

And loud the bougies sound. 



To joyn his king adoun the hill 

In hast his merch he made, 170 

While, playand pibrochs, minstralls meit 

Afore him stately strade. 
"Thrice welcome valiant stoup of weir, 

Thy nations shield and pride; 
Thy king nae reason has to fear 175 

When thou art by his side." 



When bows were bent and darts were thrawn ; 

For thrang scarce cou'd they flee ; 
The darts clove arrows as they met, 

The arrows dart the tree. 180 

Lang did they rage and fight fu' fierce, 

With little skaith to mon, 
But bloody bloody was the field, 

Ere that lang day was done. 



The King of Scots, that sindle brook'd 185 

The war that look'd like play, 
Drew his braid sword, and brake his bow, 

Sin bows seem'd but delay. 
Quoth noble Rothsay, " Mine I'll keep, 

I wat it's bled a score. 190 

Haste up my merry men, cry'd the king 

As he rode on before. 



The King of Norse he sought to find, 

With him to mense the faught, 
But on his forehead there did light 195 

A sharp unsonsie shaft ; 
As he his hand put up to feel 

The wound, an arrow keen, 
waefu' chance ! there pinn'd his hand 

In midst between his een. 200 

xxvi. 

" Revenge, revenge, cry'd Rothsay's heir, 

Your mail-coat sha' na bide 
The strength and sharpness of my dart:" 

Then sent it through his side. 



Another arrow well he marked, 205 

It pierced his neck in twa, 
His hands then quat the silver reins, 

He low as earth did fa'. 



" Sair bleids my liege, sair, sair he bleids !" 

Again wi' might he drew 210 

And gesture dread his sturdy bow, 

Fast the braid arrow flew : 
Wae to the knight he ettled at ; 

Lament now Queen Elgreed ; 
High dames too wail your darling's fall, 215 

His youth and comely meed. 



" Take aff, take aff his costly jupe 

(Of gold well was it twin'd, 
Knit like the fowler's net, through quhilk 

His steelly harness shin'd) 220 

Take, Norse, that gift frae me, and bid 

Him venge the blood it bears ; 
Say, if he face my bended bow, 

He sure nae weapon fears." 



Proud Norse with giant body tall, 225 

Braid shoulders and arms strong, 
Cry'd, " Where is Hardyknute sae fam'd 

And fear'd at Britain's throne : 
Tho' Bx-itons tremble at his name 

I soon shall make him wail, 230 

That e'er my sword was made sae sharp, 

Sae saft his coat of mail." 



That brag his stout heart cou'd na bide, 

It lent him youthfu' micht : 
" I'm Hardyknute ; this day, he cry'd, 235 

To Scotland's king I heght 
To lay thee low, as horses hoof; 

My word I mean to keep." 
Syne with the first stroke e'er he strake, 

He garr'd his body bleed. 240 

XXXI. 

Norss' een like gray gosehawk's stair'd wyld, 
He sigh'd wi' shame and spite ; 

" Disgrac'd is now my far-fam'd arm 
That left thee power to strike :" 

Then ga' his head a blow sae fell, 245 

It made him doun to stoup, 



HARDYKNUTE. 



207 



As laigh as he to ladies us'd 
In courtly guise to lout. 

XXXII. 

Fu' soon he rais'd his bent body, 

His bow he niarvell'd sair, 
Sin blows till then on him but darr'd 

As touch of Fairly fair : 
Norse niarvell'd too as sair as he 

To see his stately look ; 
Sae soon as e'er he strake a fae, 

Sae soon his life he took. 



250 



255 



Where like a fire to heather set 

Bauld Thomas did advance, 
Ane sturdy fae with look enrag'd 

Up toward him did prance ; 2G0 

He spurr'd his steid through thickest ranks 

The hardy youth to quell, 
Wha stood unmov'd at his approach 

His fury to repell. 



" That short brown shaft sae meanly trimm'd, 

Looks like poor Scotlands gear, 266 

But dreadfull seems the rusty point !" 

And loud he leugh in jcar. 
" Oft Britons blood has dimm'd its shine ; 

This point cut short their vaunt:" 270 
Syne pierc'd the boasters bearded cheek ; 

Nae time he took to taunt. 



Short while he in his saddle swang 

His stirrup was nae stay, 
Sae feeble hang his unbent knee 

Sure taiken he was fey : 
Swith on the harden't clay he fell, 

Right far was heard the thud : 
But Thomas look't nae as ho lay 

All waltering in his blud : 



275 



280 



With careless gesture, mind unmov't, 

On roade he north the plain ; 
His seem in throng of fiercest strife, 

When winner ay the same : 
Not yet his heart dames diraplet cheek 

Could mease soft leve to bruik, 
Till vengefu' Ann return'd his scorn, 

Then languid grew his luik. 
27 



285 



In thraws of death, with walowit cheik, 

All panting on the plain, 290 

The fainting corps of warriours lay, 

Ne're to arise again ; 
Ne're to return to native land, 

Nae mair with blithsome sounds 
To boast the glories of the day, 295 

And shaw their shining wounds. 



On Norways coast the widowit dame 

May wash the rocks with tears, 
May lang luik ow'r the shipless seas 

Before her mate appears. 300 

Cease, Emma, cease to hope in vain ; 

Thy lord lyes in the clay ; 
The valiant Scots nae revers thole 

To carry life away. 



Here on a lee, where stands a cross 305 

Set up for monument, 
Thousands fu' fierce that summer's day 

Fill'd keen war's black intent. 
Let Scots, while Scots, praise Hardyknute 

Let Norse the name ay dread, 310 

Ay how he faught, aft how he spar'd 

Shall latest ages read. 



Now loud and chill blew th' westlin wind, 

Sair beat the heavy shower, 
Mirk grew the night ere Hardyknute 315 

Wan near his stately tower. 
His tow'r that us'd wi' torches blaze 

To shine sae far at night, 
Seem'd now as black as mourning weed, 

Nae marvel sair he sighed. 320 



" There's nae light in my lady's bower, 

There's nae light in my ha' ; 
Nae blink shines round my Fairly fair, 

Nor ward stands on my wa\ 
" What bodes it ? Robert, Thomas, say ;" — 

Nae answer fitts their dread. 326 

" Stand back, my sons, I'le be your guide !" 

But by they past with speed. 



" As fast I've sped o'er Scotlands faes," — 
There ceas'd his brag of weir, 330 



208 



HARDYKNUTE. 



Sair sham'd to mind ought but his dame, 

And maiden Fairly fair. 
Black fear he felt, but what to fear 

He wist nae yet ; wi' dread 
Sair shook his body, sair his limbs, 335 

And a' the warrior fled. 



*** In an elegant publication, entitled 
" Scottish Tragic Ballads, printed by and for 
J. Nichols, 1781, 8vo.," may be seen a con- 
tinuation of the ballad of Hardy knute, by 
the addition of a " Second Part," which hath 
since been acknowledged to be his own com- 
position, by the ingenious Editor — To whom 
the late Sir D. Dalrymple communicated 
(subsequent to the account drawn up above 
in ]). 203) extracts of a letter from Sir John 
Bruce, of Kinross, to Lord Binning, which 
plainly proves the pretended discoverer of the 
fragment of Hardyknute to have been Sir 
John Bruce himself. His words are, "To 
perform my promise, I send you a true copy 
of the Manuscript I found some weeks ago in 
a vault at Dumferline. It is written on vel- 
lum in a fair Gothic character, but so much 
defaced by time, as you'll find, that the tenth 
part is not legible." He then gives the whole 
fragment as it was first published in 1719, 
Bave one or two stanzas, marking several pas- 
sages as having perished by being illegible 
in the old MS. Hence it appears that Sir 
John was the author of Hardyknute, but af- 
terwards used Mrs. Wardlaw to be the mid- 
wife of his poetry, and suppressed the story 
of the vault ; as is well observed by the Edi- 
tor of the Tragic Ballads, and of Maitland's 
Scot. Poets, vol. I. p. exxvii. 

To this gentleman we are indebted for the 
use of the copy, whence the second edition 
was afterwards printed, as the same was 
prepared for the press by John Clerk, M. D., 
of Edinburgh, an intimate companion of Lord 
President Forbes. 

The title of the first edition was, " Hardy- 
knute, a Fragment. Edinburgh, printed for 
James Watson, &c, 1719," folio, 12 pages. 



Stanzas not in the first edition are, Nos. 
17, 18, 20, 21, 22, 23, 34, 35, 36, 37, 41, 42. 

In the present impression the orthography 
of Dr. Clerk's copy has been preserved, and 
his readings carefully followed, except in a 
few instances, wherein the common edition 
appeared preferable: viz. He had in ver. 20, 
but, — v. 50, of harm, — v. G4, every, — v. 07, lo 
down, — v. 83, That omitted, — v. 89, And 
omitted, — v. 143, With argument but vainly 
straw Lang. — v. 148, say'd. — v. 155, incam- 
pit on the plain. — v. 156, Norse squadrons. — 
v. 158, regand revers. — v. 170, his strides he 
bent. — v. 171, minstrals play and Pibrochs 
fine. — v. 172, statety went. — v. 182, mon. — v. 
196, sharp and fatal. — v. 219, which. — v. 241, 
stood wyld. — Stanza 39 preceded stanza 38. 
— v. 305, There. — v. 313, blew wrestling. — v. 
336 had originally been, He feared a' cou'd be 
fear'd. 

The editor was also informed, on the au- 
thority of Dr. David Clerk, M. D., of Edin- 
burgh (son of the aforesaid Dr. John Clerk), 
that between the present stanzas 36 and 37, 
the two following had been intended, but 
were on maturer consideration omitted, and 
do not now appear among the MS. additions : 

Now darts flew wavering through slaw speede, 

Scarce could they reach their aim ; 
Or reach'd, scarce blood the round point drew, 

'Twas all but shot in vain : 
Righ strengths arms forfeebled grew, 

Sair wreck'd wi' that day's toils: 
E'en fierce-born minds now lang'd for peace, 

And cur'd war's cruel broils. 

Yet still wars horns sounded to charge, 

Swords clash'd and harness rang ; 
But saftly sae ilk blaster blew 

The hills and dales fraemang. 
Nae echo heard in double dints, 

Nor the lang-winding horn, 
Nae mair she blew out brade as she 

Did eir that summers morn. 



THE END OF BOOK THE FIRST. 



A BALLAD OF LUTHER, ETC. 



209 



SERIES THE SECOND. 
BOOK II. 



& §aM 0f Jut|er, % lo$e, a fetal, attlr a ftosbaubman. 



In the former Book we brought down this 
second Series of poems as low as about the 
middle of tho sixteenth century. We now 
find the Muses deeply engaged in religious 
controversy. The sudden revolution wrought 
in the opinions of mankind by the Reforma- 
tion, is one of the most striking events in the 
history of the human mind. It could not but 
engross the attention of every individual in 
that age, and therefore no other writings 
would have any chance to be read, but such 
as related to this grand topic. The altera- 
tions made in the established religion by 
Henry VIII., the sudden changes it under- 
went in the three succeeding reigns within 
so short a space as eleven or twelve years, 
and the violent struggles between expiring 
Popory and growing Protestantism, could not 
but interest all mankind. Accordingly every 
pen was engaged in the dispute. The fol- 
lowers of the Old and New Profession (as 
they wore called) had their respective ballad- 
makers ; and everyday produced some popu- 
lar sonnet for or against the Reformation. 
The following ballad, and that entitled "Lit- 
tle John Nobody," may serve for specimens 
of the writings of each party. Both were 
written in the reign of Edward VI. ; and are 
not the worst that were composed upon the 
occasion. Controversial divinity is no friend 
to poetic flights. Yet this ballad of " Luther 
and the Pope," is not altogether devoid of 
spirit; it is of the dramatic kind, and the 
characters are tolerably well sustained ; espe- 
cially that of Luther, which is made to speak 
in a manner not unbecoming the spirit and 
courage of that vigorous reformer. It is 
printed from the original black-letter copy 
(in the Pepys collection, vol. I., folio), to which 
is prefixed a large wooden cut, designed and 
executed by some eminent master. 



We are net to wonder that the ballad- 
writers of that age should be inspired with 
the zeal of controversy, when the very stage 
teemed with polemic divinity. I have now 
before me two very ancient quarto black-letter 
plays : the one published in the time of Henry 
VIII., entitled " Every Man ;" tho other called 
" Lusty -Inventus," printed in the reign of 
Edward VI. In the former of these, occasion 
is taken to inculcate great reverence for old 
mother church and her superstitions :* in the 
other, the poet (one R. Wever) with great 
success attacks both. So that the stage in 
those days literally was, what wise men have 
always wished it — a supplement to the pul- 
pit : — this was so much the case, that in the 
play of " Lusty Juventus," chapter and verse 
are every where quoted as formally as in a 
sermon ; take an instance : 

" The Lord by his prophet Ezechiel sayeth in 
this wise playnlye, 
As in the xxxiij chapter it doth appere : 
Be converted, ye children. &c." 



* Take a specimen from his high encomiums on the 
priesthood : 

'• There is no emperour, kyng, duke, ne haron. 
That of God hath oommissyon, 
As hath the leest preest in the world beynge. 

* * * 

God hath to them more power gyven, 
Than to any aungeil, that is in heven ; 
With v. words he may consecrate 
Goddes body in flesshe, and blode to take, 
And handeleth his maker bytweene his handes. 
The preest byudeth and unbindeth all bandes, 
Both in irthe and in heven. — 
Thou ministers all the sacramentes seven. 
Though we kyst tby fete thou were worthy; 
Thou art the surgyan that cureth synne dedly : 
No remedy may we fynde under God, 
But alone on preesthode. 

God gave preest that dignitfi, 

And letteth them in his stede amonge us he, 

Thus be they above aungels in degre." 

See Hawkins's Orig. of Eng. Drama, Vol. I. p. 61. 



210 



A BALLAD OF LUTHER, ETC. 



From this play we learn that most of the 
young people were New Gospellers, or friends 
to the Reformation, and that the old were 
tenacious of the doctrines imbibed in their 
youth : for thus the devil is introduced la- 
menting the downfall of superstition : 

" The olde people would believe stil in my 

lawes, 
But the yonger sort leade them a contrary 

way, 
They wyl not beleve, they playnly say, 
In olde traditions, and made by men, &c." 

And in another place Hypocrisy urges, 

" The worlde was never meri 
Since chyldren were so boulde ; 
Now every boy will be a teacher, 
The father a foole, the chylde a preacher." 

Of the plays above mentioned, to the first 
is subjoined the following, Printer's Colo- 
phon, f " Thus endeth this moral playe of 
Every Man. fl Imprinted at London in 
Powles chyrche yarde by me John Skot." 
In Mr. Garrick's collection is an imperfect 
copy of the same play, printed by Richarde 
Pynson. 

The other is intitled, "An interlude called 
Lufty Juventus :" and is thus distinguished 
at the end : " Finis, quod R. Wever. Im- 
prynted at London in Paules churche yeard 
by Abraham Dele at the signe of the Lambe." 
Of this, too, Mr. Garrick has an imperfect 
copy of a different edition. 

Of these two plays the reader may find 
some further particulars in Series the First, 
Book II., see "The Essay on the Origin of 
the English Stage ;" and the curious reader 
will find the plays themselves printed at large 
in Hawkins's "Origin of the English Drama," 
3 vols., Oxford, 1773, 12mo. 

THE HUSBANDMAN. 

Let us lift up our hartes all, 

And prayse the Lordes magnificence, 

Which hath given the wolues a fall, 
And is become our strong defence : 
For they thorowe a false pretens 5 

From Christes bloude dyd all us leade,* 

* 1. ©. denied ua the Cup, see below, rer. 94. 



Gettynge from every man his pence, 
As satisfactours for the deade. 

For what we with our Flayles coulde get 

To kepe our house, and survauntes ; 10 
That did the Freers from us fet, 

And with our soules played the mer- 
chauntes: 

And thus they with theyr false warrantes 
Of our sweate have easelye lyved, 

That for fatnesse theyr belyes pantes, 15 
So greatlye have they us deceaued. 

They spared not the fatherlesse, 
The carefull, nor the pore wydowe ; 

They wolde have somewhat more or lesse, 
If it above the ground did growe : 20 

But now we husbandmen do knowe 

Al their subteltye, and theyr false caste ; 
For the Lorde hath them overthrowe 

With his swete word now at the laste. 



DOCTOR MARTIN LUTHER. 



25 



Thou antichrist, with thy thre crownes, 

Has usurped kynges powers, 
As having power over realmes and townes, 

Whom thou oughtest to serve all houres. 

Thou thinkest by thy jugglyng colours 
Thou maist lykewise Gods word oppresse ; 

As do the deceatful foulers, 31 

AVhen they theyr nettes craftelye dresse. 

Thou flatterest every prince, and lord, 

Thretening poore men with swearde and 
fyre ; 

All those, that do followe Gods worde, 35 
To make them cleve to thy desire, 
Theyr bokes thou burnest in flaming fire ; 

Cursing with boke, bell, and candell, 
Such as to reade them have desyre, 

Or with them are wyllynge to meddell. 40 

Thy false power wyl I bryng down, 
Thou shalt not raygne many a yere, 

I shall dryve the from citye and towne, 
Even with this pen that thou seyste here : 
Thou fyghtest with swerd, shylde, and 
speare, 45 

But I wyll fyght with Gods worde ; 
Which is now so open and cleare, 

That it shall brynge the under the borde.* 

* i. e. Make thee knock under the table. 



JOHN ANDERSON MY JO. 



211 



Though I brought never so many to hel, 

And to utter dampnacion, 
Throughe myne ensaniple, and consel, 

Or thorow any abhominacion, 

Yet doth our lawe excuse my fashion. 
And thou, Luther, arte accursed ; 

For blamynge me, and my condicion, 
The holy decres have the condempned. 



50 



55 



Thou stryvest against my purgatory, 
Because thou findest it not in scripture ; 

As though I by myne auctorite 
Myght not make one for myne honoure. 60 
Knowest thou not, that I have power 

To make, and mar, in heaven and hell, 
In erth, and every creature ? 

Whatsoever I do it must be well. 



As for scripture, I am above it ; 

Am not I Gods hye vicare ? 
Shulde I be bounde to followe it, 

As the carpenter his ruler ?* 

Nay, nay, hereticks ye are, 
That will not obey my auctoritie. 

With this sworde I wyll declare, 
That ye shal al accursed be. 



05 



THE CARDINAL. 

I am a Cardinall of Rome, 

Sent from Christes hye vicary, 
To graunt pardon to more, and sume, 75 

That wil Luther resist strongly: 

He is a greate hereticke treuly, 
And regardeth to much the scripture ; 

For he thinketh onely thereby 
To subdue the popes high honoure : 80 

Receive ye this pardon devoutely, 
And loke that ye agaynst him fight; 

Plucke up your herts, and be manlye, 
For the pope sayth ye do but ryght : 
And this be sure, that at one flyghte, 85 

Allthough ye be overcome by chaunce, 
Ye shall to heaven go with greate myghte ; 

God can make you no resistaunce. 



But these heretikes for their medlynge 
Shal go down to hel every one ; 

For they have not the popes blessynge, 
Nor regard his holy pardon : 
They thinke from all destruction 

By Christes bloud to be saved, 

Fearynge not our excommunicacion, 

Therefore shall they al be dampned. 



90 



95 



11. 



Iflftn $nte$0it MH |0. 



A SCOTTISH SONG. 



While in England verse was made the ve- 
hicle of controversy, and Popery was attacked 
in it by logical argument, or stinging satire; 
we may be sure the zeal of the Scottish Re- 
formers would not suffer their pens to be idle, 
but many a pasquil was discharged at the 
Romish priests, and their enormous encroach- 
ments on property. Of this kind perhaps is 
the following (preserved in Maitland's MS. 
Collection of Scottish poems in the Pepysian 
library) : 

" Tak a Wobster, that is leill, 
And a Miller, that will not steill, 

* i. e. his rule. 



With ane Priest, that is not gredy, 
And lay ane deid corpse thame by, 
And, throw virtue of thame three, 
That deid corpse sail qwyknit be." 

Thus far all was fair : but the furious hatred 
of Popery led them to employ their rhymes 
in a still more licentious manner. It is a 
received tradition in Scotland, that at the 
time of the Reformation, ridiculous and ob- 
scene songs were composed to be sung by the 
rabble to the tunes of the most favourite 
hymns in the Latin service. Green sleeves 
and pudding pies (designed to ridicule the 
popish clergy) is said to have been one of 
these metamorphosed hymns : Maggy Lauder 



212 



LITTLE JOHN NOBODY. 



was another: John Anderson my jo was a 
third. The original music of all these bur- 
lesque sonnets was very fine. To give a spe- 
cimen of their manner, we have inserted one 
of the least offensive. The reader will par- 
don the meanness of the composition for the 
sake of the anecdote, which strongly marks 
the spirit of the times. 

In the present edition this song is much 
improved by some new readings communi- 
cated by a friend ; who thinks by the " Seven 
Bairns," in st. 2d, are meant the Seven Sa- 
craments ; five of which were the spurious off- 
spring of Mother Church : as the first stanza 
contains a satirical allusion to the luxury of 
the popish clergy. 

The adaptation of solemn church music to 
these ludicrous pieces, and the jumble of 
ideas, thereby occasioned, will account for 
the following fact. — From the Records of the 
General Assembly in Scotland, called " The 
Book of the Universal Kirk," p. 90, 7th July, 
1568, it appears, that Thomas Bassendyne, 



printer in Edinburgh, printed " a psalme 
biiik, in the end whereof was found printit 
ancbaudy sang, called 'Welcome Fortunes.'"* 



John Anderson my jo, cum in as ze gae by, 
And ze sail get a sheips heid weel baken in 

a pye : 
Weel baken in a pye, and the haggis in a 

pat; 
John Anderson my jo, cum in, and ze's get 

that. 



And how doe ze, Cummer ? and how hae ze 
threven ? 

And how mony bairns hae ze ? Wom. Cum- 
mer, I hae seven. 

Man. Are they to zour awin gude man ? 
Wom. Na, Cummer, na ; 

For five of tham were gotten, cmhan he was 
awa'. 



III. 



f ittU pint $000032. 



We have here a witty libel on the Reforma- 
tion under King Edward VI., written about 
the year 1550, and preserved in the Pepys 
collection, British Museum, and Strype's Me- 
moirs of Cranmer. The author artfully de- 
clines entering into the merits of the cause, 
and wholly reflects on the lives and actions of 
many of the reformed. It is so easy to find 
flaws and imperfections in the conduct of men, 
even the best of them, and still easier to make 
general exclamations about the profligacy of 
the present times, that no great point is 
gained by arguments of that sort, unless the 
author could have proved that the principles 
of the reformed religion had a natural ten- 
dency to produce a corruption of manners ; 
whereas he indirectly owns, that their Reve- 
rend Father [Archbishop Cranmer] had used 
the most proper means to stem the torrent, 
by giving the people access to the Scriptures, 
by teaching them to pray with understand- 
ing, and by publishing homilies and other 



religious tracts. It must however be acknow- 
ledged, that our libeller had at that time suf- 
ficient room for just satire. For under the 
banners of the reformed had enlisted them- 
selves, many concealed papists, who had pri- 
vate ends to gratify ; many that were of no 
religion ; many greedy courtiers, who thirsted 
after the possessions of the church ; and 
many dissolute persons, who wanted to be 
exempt from all ecclesiastical censures : and 
as these men were loudest of all others in 
their cries for Reformation, so in effect none 
obstructed the regular progress of it so much, 
or by their vicious lives brought vexation 
and shame more on the truly venerable and 
pious Reformers. 

The reader will remark the fondness of our 
satirist for alliteration : in this he was guilty 
of no affectation or singularity ; his versifica- 
tion is that of Pierce Plowman's Visions, in 

* See also Biograph. Briant. 1st ed. vol. i. p. 177. 



LITTLE JOHN NOBODY. 



213 



■which a recurrence of similar letters is essen- 
tial : to this he has only superadded rhyme, 
which in his time began to be the general 
practice. See an Essay on this very peculiar 
kind of metre, prefixed to Book III. in this 
Series. 

In december, when the dayes draw to be 

short, 
After november, when the nights wax noy- 

some and long ; 
As I past by a place privily at a port, 
I saw one sit by himself making a song: 
His last* talk of trifles, who told with his 

tongue 
That few were fast i' th' faith. I ' freyned'f 

that freake, 
"Whether he wanted wit, or some had done 

him wrong. 
He said, he was little John Nobody, that 

durst not speake. 

John Nobody, quoth I, what news ? thou soon 

note and tell 
What maner men thou meane, thou are so 

mad. 
He said, These gay gallants, that wil con- 
strue the gospel, 
As Solomon the sage, with semblance full 

sad ; 
To discusse divinity they nought adread ; 
More meet it were for them to milk kye at a 

fleyke. 
Thou lyest, quoth I, thou losel, like a leud 

lad. 
He said he was little John Nobody, that 

durst not speake. 

Its meet for every man on this matter to talk, 
And the glorious gospel ghostly to have in 

mind ; 
It is sothe said, that sect but much unseemly 

skalk, 
As boyes babble in books, that in scripture 

are blind : 
Yet to their fancy soon a cause will find ; 
As to live in lust, in lechery to leyke : 
Such caitives count to be come of Cains 

kind ;J 
But that I little John Nobody durst not 

speake. 

* Perhaps He left talk. f feigned, MSS. and P. C. 

X Cain's kind.] So in Pierce the Plowman's creed, the 
proud friars are said to be 

" Of Caymes kind." Vid. Sig. C. ij. b. 



For our reverend father hath set forth an order, 
Our service to be said ' in our seignours 

tongue ; 
As Solomon the sage set forth the scripture ; 
Our suffrages, and services, with many a 

sweet song, 
With homilies, and godly books us among, 
That no stiff, stubborn stomacks we should 

freyke : 
But wretches nere worse to do poor men 

wrong ; 
But that I little John Nobody dare not 



For bribery was never- so great, since born 

was our Lord, 
And whoredom was never les hated, sith 

Christ harrowed hel, 
And poor men are so sore punished common- 
ly through the world, 
That it would grieve any one, that good is, 

to hear tel. 
For al the homilies and good books, yet their 

hearts be so quel, 
That if a man do amisse, with mischiefe they 

wil him wreake ; 
The fashion of these new fellows it is so vile 

and fell : 
But that I little John Nobody dare not 

speake. 

Thus to live after their lust, that life would 

they have, 
And in lechery to leyke al their long life ; 
For al the preaching of Paul, yet many a 

proud knave 
Wil move mischiefe in their mind both to 

maid and w r ife 
To bring them in advoutry or else they wil 

strife, 
And in brawling about baudery, Gods com- 
mandments breake: 
But of these frantic il fellowes, few of them 

do thrife ; 
Though I little John Nobody dare not 

speake. 

If thou company with them, they wil cur- 
rishly carp, and not care 

According to their foolish fantacy ; but fast 
wil they naught: 

Prayer with them is but prating ; therefore 
they it forbear : 

Both almes deeds, and holiness, they hate it 
in their thought : 



214 



THE HEIR OF LINNE. 



Therefore pray we to that prince, that with 

liis liloud us bought, 
That he wil mend that is amiss : for many a 

manful freyke 
Is sorry for these sects, though they say little 

or nought ; 
And that I little John Nobody dare not 

once speake. 

Thus in no place, this Nobody, in no time I 
met, 

Where no man, * ne'* nought was, nor no- 
thing did appear ; 



Through the sound of a synagogue for sor- 
row I 6wett, 

That ' Aeolus'* though the eccho did cause 
me to hear. 

Then I drew me down into a dale, whereas 
the dumb deer 

Did shiver for a shower ; but I shunted from 
a freyke : 

For I would no wight in this world wist who 
I were, 
But little John Nobody, that dare not once 
speake. 



IV. 



(§}mm tfli^toili's Wkxm, Mule fusAncr at WmMntk, 

WRIT WITH CHARCOAL ON A SHUTTER, 



— are preserved by Hentzner, in that part of 
his Travels, which has been reprinted in so 
elegant a manner at Strawberry-Hill. In 
Hentzncr's book they were wretchedly cor- 
rupted, but are here given as amended by his 
ingenious Editor. The old orthography, and 
one or two ancient readings of Hentzner's 
copy, are here restored. 

On, Fortune ! how thy restlesse wavering 
state 
Hath fraught with cares my troubled witt ! 



Witnes this present prisonn, whither fate 

Could beare me, and the joys I quit. 
Thou causedest the guiltie to be losed 5 

From bandes, wherein are innocents in- 
closed : 
Causing the guiltlcs to be straite reserved, 
And freeing those that death hath well de- 
served. 
But by her envie can be nothing wroughte, 
So God send to my foes all they have thoughte. 

A. D. MDLV. ELIZABETHE, PrISONNER. 



%\t jjw 0f finiu. 



TnE original of this Ballad is found in the 
Editor's folio MS., the breaches and defects 
in which, rendered the insertion of supple- 
mental stanzas necessary. These it is hoped 
the Reader will pardon, as indeed the com- 
pletion of the story was suggested by a 
modern ballad on a similar subject. 

From the Scottish phrases here and there 



* then, MSS. and P. C. 



discernible in this poem, it would seem to 
have been originally composed beyond the 
Tweed. 

The heir of Linne appears not to have been 
a Lord of Parliament, but a Laird, whose 
title went along; with his estate. 



* Hercules, MS. and P. C. 

Ver. 4, Could beare, is an ancient idiom, equivalent to 
Did bear or 1 1 alh borne. See below the Beggar of Bednal 
Green, ver. 57, Could say. 



THE HEIR OF LINNE. 



215 



PART THE FIRST. 

Lithe and listen, gentlemen, 

To sing a song I will beginne : 
It is of a lord of faire Scotland, 

Which was the unthrifty heire of Linne. 

His father was a right good lord, 5 

His mother a lady of high degree ; 

But they, alas ! were dead, him froe, 
And he lov'd keeping companie. 

To spend the daye with merry cheare, 

To drinke and revell every night, 10 

To card and dice from eve to morne, 
It was, I ween, his hearts delighte. 

To ride, to runne, to rant, to roare, 
To alwaye spend and never spare, 

I wott, an' it were the king himselfe, 15 

Of gold and fee he mote be bare. 

Soe fares the unthrifty Lord of Linne 
Till all his gold is gone and spent ; 

And he maun sell his landes so broad, 

His house, and landes, and all his rent. 20 

His father had a keen stewarde, 

And John o' the Scales was called hee : 

But John is become a gentel-man, 
And John has gott both gold and fee. 

Sayes, Welcome, welcome, Lord of Linne, 25 
Let nought disturb thy merry cheere ; 

Iff thou wilt sell thy landes soe broad, 
Good store of gold He give thee heere. 

My gold is gone, my money is spent; 

My lande nowe take it unto thee : 30 

Give me the golde, good John o' the Scales, 

And thine for aye my lande shall bee. 

Then John he did him to record draw, 
And John he cast him a gods-pennie ;* 

But for every pounde that John agreed, 35 
The lande, I wis, was well worth three. 

He told him the gold upon the borde. 

He was right glad his land to winne ; 
The gold is thine, the land is mine, 

And now He be the Lord of Linne. 40 

* i. e. earnest-nioney ; from the French " Denier k Dieu." 
At this day, when application is made to the Dean and 
Chapter of Carlisle to accept an exchange of the tenant 
Tinder one of their leases, a piece of silver is presented by 
the new tenant, which is still called a God's-penny. 

28 



Thus he hath sold his land soe broad, 
Both hill and holt, and moore and fenne, 

All but a poore and lonesome lodge, 
That stood far off in a lonely glenne. 

For soe he to his father hight. 45 

My sonne, when I am gonne, sayd hee, 

Then thou wilt spend thy lande so broad, 
And thou wilt spend thy gold so free : 

But sweare me nowe upon the roode, 49 

That lonesome lodge thou'lt never spend ; 

For when all the world doth frown on thee, 
Thou there shalt find a faithful friend. 

The heire of Linne is full of golde : 
And come with me, my friends, sayd hee, 

Let's drinke, and rant, and merry make, 55 
And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee. 

They ranted, drank, and merry made, 
Till all his gold it waxed thinne ; 

And then his friendes they slunk away; 
They left the unthrifty heire of Linne. 60 

He had never a penny left in his purse, 

Never a penny left but three, 
And one was brass, another was lead, 

And another it was white money. 

Nowe well-aday, sayd the heire of Linne, 65 
Nowe well-adaye, and woe is mee, 

For when I was the Lord of Linne, 
I never wanted gold nor fee. 



But many a trustye friend have I, 
And why shold I feel dole or care ? 

He borrow of them all by turnes, 
Soe need I not be never bare. 



70 



But one, I wis, was not at home ; 

Another had payd his gold away ; 
Another call'd him thriftless loone, 75 

And bade him sharpely wend his way. 

Now well-aday, sayd the heire of Linne, 
Now well-aday, and woe is me ; 

For when I had my landes so broad, 

On me they liv'd right merrilee. 80 

To beg my bread from door to door, 
I wis, it were a brenning shame : 

To rob and steal it were a sinne : 
To worke my limbs I cannot frame. 



Ver. 63, 4, 5, <fcc. Sic MS. 



216 



THE HEIR OF LINNE. 



85 



Now He away to lonesome lodge, 
For there my father hade me wend : 

"When all the world should frown on nice 
I there shold find a trusty friend. 



TART THE SECOND. 

Away then hyed the heire of Linne 
Oer hill and holt, and moor and fenne, 

Pntill he came to lonesome lodge, 
That stood so lowe in a lonely glenne. 

He looked up, he looked downe, 5 

In hope some comfort for to winner 

But bare and lothly were the walles. 

Here's sorry cheare, quo' the heire of Linne. 

The little windowe dim and darke 

Was hung with ivy, brere, and yewe ; 10 

No shimmering sunn here ever shone, 
No halesome breeze here ever blew. 

No chair, ne table he mote spye, 

No chearful hearth, ne welcome bed, 

Nought save a rope with renning noose, 15 
That dangling hung up o'er his head. 

And over it in broad letters, 

These words were written so plain to see : 
"Ah ! gracelesse wretch, hast spent thine all 

And brought thyselfe to penurie ? 20 

" All this my boding mind misgave, 
I therefore left this trusty friend : 

Let it now sheeld thy foule disgrace, 
And all thy shame and sorrows end." 

Sorely shent wi' this rebuke, 25 

Sorely shent was the heire of Linne ; 

nis heart, I wis, was near to brast 

With guilt and sorrowe, shame and sinne. 

Never a word spake the heire of Linne, 
Never a word he spake but three : 30 

" This is a trusty friend indeed, 
And is right welcome unto mee." 

Then round his necke the corde he drewe, 
And sprang aloft with his bodle : 

When lo ! the ceiling burst in twaine, 35 
And to the ground come tumbling hee. 



Astonyed lay the heire of Linne, 
Ne knewe if he were live or dead : 

At length he looked, and sawe a bille, 
And in it a key of gold so redd. 



40 



He took the bill, and lookt it on, 
Strait good comfort found he there : 

Itt told him of a hole in the wall, 

In which there stood three chests in-fere.* 

Two were full of the beaten golde, 45 

The third was full of white money; 

And over them in broad letters 
These words were written so plaine to see • 

" Once more, my sonne, I sette thee clere ; 

Amend thy life and follies past ; 50 

For but thou amend thee of thy life, 

That rope must be thy end at last." 

And let it bee, sayd the heire of Linne ; 

And let it bee, but if I amend :f 
For here I will make mine avow, 55 

This readej shall guide me to the end. 

Away then went with a merry cheare, 
Away then went the heire of Linne ; 

I wis, he neither ceas'd ne blanne, 59 

Till John o' the Scales house he did winno. 

And when he came to John o' the Scales, 
Upp at the speere§ then looked hee ; 

There sate three lords upon a rowe, 
Were drinking of the wine so free. 

And John himselfe sate at the bord-head, 65 
Because now lord of Linne was hee. 

I pray thee, he said, good John o' the Scales, 
One forty pence for to lend mee. 

Away, away, thou thriftless loone ; 

Away, away, this may not bee : 70 

For Christs curse on my head, he sayd, 

If ever I trust thee one pennle. 



Ver. 60, an old northern phrase. 

* in-fere, i. e. together. 

f i. e. unless I amend. $ i. e. advice, counsel. 

\ Perhaps tho Hole in the door or window, by which it 
was speerecl, i. e. sparred, fastened, or shut. — In Bale's 2d 
Part of the Acts of Eng. Votaries, we have this phrase (fol. 
38). "The dore therof oft tymes opened and speared 
agayen. 



THE HEIR OF LINNE. 



217 



Then bespake the heire of Linne, 

To John o' the Scales wife then spake he : 
Madame, some almes on me bestowe, 75 

I pray for sweet saint Charitle. 

Away, away, thou thriftless loone, 

I sweare thou gettest no almes of mee ; 

For if we should hang any losel heere, 

The first we wold begin with thee. 80 

Then bespake a good fellowe, 

Which sat at John o' the Scales his bord ; 
Sayd, Turn againe, thou heire of Linne ; 

Some time thou wast a well good lord : 

Some time a good fellow thou hast been, 85 
And sparedst not thy gold and fee ; 

Therefore He lend thee forty pence, 
And other forty if need bee. 

And ever, I pray thee, John o' the Scales, 
To let him sit in thy companie : 90 

For well I wot thou hadst his land, 
And a good bargain it was to thee. 

Up then spake him John o' the Scales, 
All wood he answer'd him againe : 

Now Christs curse on my head, he sayd, 95 
But I did lose by that bargaine. 

And here I proffer thee, heire of Linne, 
Before these lords so faire and free, 

Thou shalt have it backe again better cheape, 
By a hundred markes, than I had it of thee. 

I drawe you to record, lords, he said. 101 
With that he cast him a gods pennie : 



Ver. 34, of Part I., and 102, of Part II., cast is the reading 
»f the MS. 



Now by my fay, sayd the heire of Linne, 
And here, good John, is, thy money. 

And he pull'd forth three bagges of gold, 105 
And layd them down upon the bord : 

All woe begone was John o' the Scales, 
Soe shent he cold say never a word. 

He told him forth the good red gold, 

He told it forth mickle dinne. 110 

The gold is thine, the land is mine, 

And now Ime againe the Lord of Linne. 

Sayes, Have thou here, thou good fellowe, 
Forty pence thou didst lend mee: 

Now I am againe the Lord of Linne, 115 
And forty pounds I will give thee. 

He make the keeper of my forrest, 
Both of the wild deere and the tame ; 

For but I reward thy bounteous heart, 
I wis, good fellowe, I were to blame. 120 

Now welladay ! sayth Joan o' the Scales ; 

Now welladay ! and woe is my life ! 
Yesterday I was lady of Linne, 

Now Ime but John o' the Scales his wife. 

Now fare thee well, sayd the heire of Linne ; 

Farewell now, John o' the Scales, said 
hee : 126 

Christs curse light on me, if ever again 

I bring my lands in jeopardy. *#* 

fjt In the present edition of this ballad 
several ancient readings are restored from tha 
folio MS. 



218 



GASCOIGNE'S PRAISE OF THE FAIR BRIDGES. 



VI. 



dSastmpe's $mu uf t\n $m §rfop, affertoarta falig £ anbw, 



ON HER HAVING A SCAR IN HER FOREHEAD. 



George Gascoigne was a celebrated poet in 
the early part of Queen Elizabeth's reign, 
and appears to great advantage among the 
miscellaneous writers of that age. He was 
author of three or four plays, and of many 
smaller poems ; one of the most remarkable 
of which is a satire in blank verse, called the 
" Steele-glass," 1576, 4to. 

Gascoigne was born in Essex, educated in 
both universities, whence he removed to 
Gray's Inn ; but, disliking the study of the 
law, became first a dangler at court, and 
afterwards a soldier in the wars of the Low 
Countries. He had no great success in any 
of these pursuits, as appears from a poem 
of his, entitled, " Gascoigne's Wodmanship, 
written to Lord Gray of Wilton." Many of 
his epistles dedicatory are dated in 1575, 1576, 
from " his poore house in Walthamstoe :" 
where he died, a middle-aged man, in 1578, 
according to Anth. Wood : or rather in 1577, 
if he is the person meant in an old tract, en- 
titled, "A remembrance of the well-employed 
life and godly end of George Gascoigne, Esq., 
who deceased at Stamford in Lincolnshire, 
Oct. 7, 1577, by Geo. Whetstone, Gent., an 
eye-witness of his godly and charitable end 
in this world," 4to., no date. — [From a MS. 
of Oldys.] 

Mr. Thomas Warton thinks " Gascoigne 
has much exceeded all the poets of his age, in 
smoothness and harmony of versification."* 
But the truth is, scarce any of the earlier 
poets of Queen Elizabeth's time are found 
deficient in harmony and smoothness, though 
those qualities appear so rare in the writings 
of their successors. In the " Paradise of 
Dainty Devises"! (the Dodsley's Miscellany 
of those times), will hardly be found one 
rough or inharmonious linc:J whereas the 
numbers of Jonson, Donne, and most of their 
contemporaries, frequently offend the ear, 

* Observation on the Faerie Queen, Vol. II. p. 168. 

t Printed in 1578, 1596, and perhaps oftener, in 4to. 
black-letter. 

X The same is true of most of the poems in the " Mirrour 
of Magistrates," 1563, 4to., and also of " Surrey's Poems," 
1557. 



like the filing of a saw. — Perhaps this is in 
some measure to be accounted for from the 
growing pedantry of that age, and from the 
writers affecting to run their lines into one 
another, after the manner of the Latin and 
Greek poets. 

The following poem (which the elegant 
writer above quoted hath recommended to 
notice, as possessed of a delicacy rarely to be 
seen in that early state of our poetry) pro- 
perly consists of alexandrines of twelve and 
fourteen syllables, and is printed from two 
quarto black-letter collections of Gascoigne's 
pieces; the first entitled, "Ahundreth sundrie 
flowres, bounde up in one small posie, &c, 
London, imprinted for Richarde Smith:" 
without date, but from a letter of H. W. (p. 
202), compared with the printer's epist. to 
the reader, it appears to have been published 
in 1572, or '3. The other is entitled, " The 
Posies of George Gascoigne, Esq., corrected, 
perfected, and augmented by the author, 
1575. — Printed at London, for Richard Smith, 
&c." No year, but the epist. dedicat. is dated 
1576. 

In the title page of this last (by way of 
printer's* or bookseller's device) is an orna- 
mental wooden cut, tolerably well executed, 
wherein Time is represented drawing the 
figure of Truth out of a pit or cavern, with 
this legend, " Occulta Veritas tempore patet" 
[r. s.]. This is mentioned because it is not 
improbable, but the accidental sight of this 
or some other title page containing the same 
device, suggested to Rubens that well-known 
design of a similar kind, which he has intro- 
duced into the Luxemburgh gallery,f and 
which has been so justly censured for the 
unnatural manner of its execution. 

In court whoso demaundes 
What dame doth most excell ; 

For my conceit I must needes say, 
Faire Bridges beares the bel. 



* Henrie I inneman. 

, he Tems deoouvre la Verite. 



GASCOIGNE'S PRAISE OF THE FAIR BRIDGES. 



219 



Upon whose lively cheeke, 5 

To prove my judgment true, 

The rose and lillie seeme to strive 
For equall change of hewe : 

And therewithall so well 

Hir graces all agree ; 10 

No frowning cheere dare once presume 

In hir sweet face to bee. 

Although some lavishe lippes, 
Which like some other best, 

Will say, the blemishe on hir browe 15 
Disgraceth all the rest. 



Thereto I thus replie ; 

God wotte, they little knowe 
The hidden cause of that mishap, 

Nor how the harm did growe : 



20 



25 



For when dame Nature first 
Had framde hir heavenly face, 

And thoroughly bedecked it 
With goodly gleames of grace ; 

It lyked hir so well : 

Lo here, quod she, a peece 

For perfect shape, that passeth all 
Appelles' worke in Greece. 



This bayt may chaunce to catche 

The greatest God of love, 30 

Or mightie thundring Jove himself, 
That rules the roast above. 

But out, alas ! those wordes 

Were vaunted all in vayne : 
And some unseen wer present there, 35 

Pore Bridges, to thy pain. 

For Cupide, crafty boy, 

Close in a corner stoode, 
Not blyndfold then, to gaze on hir : 

I gesse it did him good. 40 



Yet when he felte the flame 

Gan kindle in his brest, 
And herd dame Nature boast by hir 

To break him of his rest, 

His hot newe-chosen love 45 

He chaunged into hate, 
And sodeynly with mightie mace 

Gan rap hir on the pate. 

It greeved Nature muche 

To see the cruell deede : 50 

Mee seemes I see hir, how she wept 

To see hir dearling bleede. 



Wei yet, quod she, this hurt 
Shal have some helpe I trowe : 

And quick with skin she coverd it, 
That whiter is than snowe. 



55 



Wherwith Dan Cupide fled, 

For feare of further flame, 
When angel-like he saw hir shine, 

Whome he had smit with shame. 60 

Lo, thus was Bridges hurt 

In cradel of hir kind. 
The coward Cupide brake hir browe 

To wreke his wounded mynd. 

The skar still there remains ; 65 

No force, there let it bee : 
There is no cloude that can eclipse 

So bright a sunne, as she. 

*** The lady here celebrated was Catha- 
rine, daughter of Edmond second Lord 
Chandos, wife of William Lord Sands. See 
Collins's Peerage, vol. ii., p. 133, ed. 1779. 

Ver. 62, In cradel of hir kind : i. e. in the cradle of her 
family. See Warton's Observations, vol. II. p. 137. 



220 



FAIR ROSAMOND. 



VII. 



fair gositmflttb. 



Most of the circumstances in this popular 
story of King Henry II., and the beautiful 
Rosamond have been taken for fact by our 
English Historians ; -who, unable to account 
for the unnatural conduct of Queen Eleanor 
in stimulating her sons to rebellion, have 
attributed it to jealousy, and supposed that 
Henry's amour with Rosamond was the object 
of that passion. 

Our old English annalists seem, most of 
them, to have followed Higden the monk of 
Chester, whose account, with some enlarge- 
ments, is thus given by Stow. "Rosamond, 
the fayre daughter of Walter Lord Clifford, 
concubine to Henry II. (poisoned by Queen 
Elianor, as some thought), dyed at Wood- 
stocke [a. d. 1177], where King Henry had 
made for her a house of wonderfull working ; 
so that no man or woman might come to her, 
but he that was instructed by the King, or 
such as were right secret with him touching 
the matter. This house after some was named 
Labyrinthus, or Dedalus worke, which was 
wrought like unto a knot in a garden, called 
a Maze ;* but it was commonly said, that 
lastly the Queene came to her by a clue of 
thridde, or silke, and so dealt with her, that 
she lived not long after: but when she was 
dead, she was buried at Godstow in an house 
of nunnes, beside Oxford, with these verses 
upon her torn be: 

" Hie jacit in tumba, Rosa mundi, non Rosa 
munda ; 
Non redolet, sed olet, qua3 redolere solet." 

" In English thus : 

" The rose of the world, but not the cleane 
flow re, 
Is now here graven ; to whom beauty was 
lent : 
In this grave full darke nowe is her bowre, 
That by her life was swecte and redo ent: 
But now that she is from this life blent, 

* Consisting of vaults under ground, arched and walled 
with brick and stone, according to Drayton. See no^on 

his Epistle of Rosamond. 



Though she were sweete, now foully doth she 

stinke. 
A mirrour good for all men, that on her 

thinke." 

Stowe's Annals, ed. 1631, p. 154. 

How the queen gained admittance into Ro- 
samond's bower is differently related. Holins- 
hed speaks of it as " the common report of 
the people, that the queene .... founde hir 
out by a silken thread, which the king had 
drawne after him out of hir chamber with 
his foot, and dealt with hir in such sharpe 
and cruell wise, that she lived not long af- 
ter." Vol. III., p. 115. On the other hand, 
in Speede's Hist., we are told that the jealous 
queen found her out " by a clew of silke, fal- 
len from Rosamund's lappe, as shee sate to 
take ayre, and suddenly fleeing from the 
sight of the searcher, the end of her silke 
fastened to her foot, and the clew still un- 
winding, remained behinde: which the queene 
followed, till shee had found what she sought, 
and upon Rosamund so vented her spleene, as 
the lady lived not long after." 3d edit. p. 
509. Our ballad maker with more ingenuity, 
and probably as much truth, tells us the clue 
was gained by surprise, from the knight, who 
was left to guard her bower. 

It is observable that none of the old writers 
attribute Rosamond's death to poison (Stowe, 
above, mentions it merely as a slight conjec- 
ture) ; they only give us to understand, that 
the queen treated her harshly ; with furious 
menaces, we may suppose, and sharp expos- 
tulations, which had such effect on her spirits 
that she did not long survive it. Indeed on 
her tomb-stone, as we learn from a person of 
credit,* among other fine sculptures, was en- 
graven thefigureof a cup. This, which perhaps 
at first was an accidental ornament (perhaps 
only the Chalice), might in after-times sug- 
gest the notion that she was poisoned ; at 
least this construction was put upon it, when 

* Tho. Allen of Oloc. Hall, Oxon. who died in 1632, aged 
90. See Hearne's rambling discourse concerning Rosamond, 
at the end of Qui. Neubrig. Hist. vol. iii. p. 739. 



FAIR ROSAMOND. 



221 



the stone came to be demolished after the 
nunnery was dissolved. The account is, that 
"the tombstone of Rosamund Clifford was 
taken up at Godstow, and broken in pieces, 
and that upon it were interchangeable weav- 
ings drawn out and decked with roses red 
and green, and the picture of the cup, out of 
which she drank the poison given her by the 
queen, carved in stone." 

Rosamond's father having been a great be- 
nefactor to the nunnery of Godstow, where 
she had also resided herself in the innocent 
part of her life, her body was conveyed there, 
and buried in the middle of the choir ; in 
which place it remained till the year 1191, 
when Hugh bishop of Lincoln caused it to be 
removed. The fact is recorded by Hovedon, 
a contemporary writer, whose words are thus 
translated by Stowe: " Hugh bishop of Lin- 
colne came to the abbey of nunnes, called 

Godstow and when he had entred the 

church to pray, he saw a tombe in the mid- 
dle of the quire, covered with a pall of silke, 
and set about with lights of waxe : and de- 
manding whose tomb it was, he was answered, 
that it was the tombe of Rosamond, that was 

some time lemman to Henry II who 

for the love of her had done much good to 
that church. Then, quoth the bishop, take 
out of this place the harlot, and bury her 
without the church, lest Christian religion 
should grow in contempt, and to the end 
that, through the example of her, other wo- 
men being made afraid may beware, and 
keepe themselves from unlawfull and ad- 
vouterous company with men." Annals, 
p. 159. 

History further informs us that king John 
repaired Godstow nunnery, and endowed it 
with yearly revenues, " that these holy vir- 
gins might releeve with their prayers, the 
soules of his father King Henrie, and of 
Lady Rosamund there interred."* In what 
situation her remains were found at the dis- 
solution of the nunnery, we learn from Le- 
land, " Rosamundes tumbe at Godstowe nun- 
nery was taken up [of] late ; it is a stone 
with this inscription, Tcmba Rosamunds. 
Her bones were closid in lede, and withyn 
that bones were closyd yn lether. When it 
was opened a very swete smell came owt of 



* Vid. Reign of Henry II., in Speed's History, writ by 
Dr. Barcbam, Dean of Bocking. 



it."* See Hearne's discourse above quoted, 
written in 1718; at which time he tells us, 
were still seen by the pool at Woodstock the 
foundations of a very large building, which 
were believed to be the remains of Rosa- 
mond's labyrinth. 

To conclude this (perhaps too prolix) ac- 
count, Henry had two sons by Rosamond, 
from a computation of whose ages, a modern 
historian has endeavoured to invalidate the 
received story. These were William Longue- 
espe (or Long-sword) earl of Salisbury, 
and Geoffrey bishop of Lincolne.f Geoffrey 
was the younger of Rosamond's sons, and 
yet is said to have been twenty years old at 
the time of his election to that see in 1173. 
Hence this writer concludes that King Henry 
fell in love with Rosamond in 1149, when in 
King Stephen's reign he came over to be 
knighted by the king of Scots ; he also 
thinks it probable that Henry's commerce 
with this lady " broke off upon his marriage 
with Eleanor [in 1152], and that the young 
lady, by a natural effect of grief and resent- 
ment at the defection of her lover, entered 
on that occasion into the nunnery of God- 
stowe, where she died probably before the 
rebellion of Henry's sons in 1173." [Carte's 
Hist. Vol. L, p. G52.] But let it be observed, 
that Henry was but sixteen years old when 
he came over to be knighted : that he stayed 
but eight months in this island, and was al- 
most all the time with the King of Scots ; 
that he did not return back to England till 
1153, the year after his marriage with Elea- 
nor ; and that no writer drops the least hint 
of Rosamond's having ever been abroad with 
her lover, nor indeed is it probable that a 
boy of sixteen should venture to carry over a 
mistress to his mother's court. If all these 
circumstances are considered, Mr. Carte's 
account will be found more incoherent and 
improbable than that of the old ballad ; 
which is also countenanced by most of our 
old historians. 

Indeed the true date of Geoffrey's birth, 
and consequently of Henry's commerce with 
Rosamond, seems to be best ascertained from 
an ancient manuscript in the Cotton library ; 
wherein it is thus registered of Geoffrey Plan- 

* This would have passed for miraculous, if it had hap- 
pened in the tomb of any clerical person, and a proof of his 
being a saint. 

t Afterwards Archbishop of York, temp. Bich. I. 



222 FAIR ROSAMOND. 


tagenet, " X;itusest5°Henry II. [1159.] 


Fac- 


And for his love and ladyes sake, 




tus est miles 25° Henry II. [1179.] Elect, in 


That was so faire and brighte, 




Episcop. Lincoln, 28° Henry II. [1182.]" 


Vid. 


The keeping of this bower he gave 


35 


Chron. de Kirkstall, (Domitian XII.) Drake's 


Unto a valiant knighte. 




Hist, of York, p. 422. 








The ballad of Fair Rosamond appears to 


But fortune, that doth often frowne 




have been first published in " Strange Histo- 


Where she before did .smile, 




ries or Songs and Sonnets, of Kinges, 


Prin- 


The kinges delighte and ladyes joy 




ces, Dukes, Lords, Ladyes, Knights, 


and 


Full soon shee did beguile : 


40 


Gentlemen, &c. By Thomas Delone. 


Lon- 






don, 1612." 4to. It is now printed 


with 


For why, the kinges ungracious sonne, 




conjectural emendations) from four ancient 


Whom he did high advance, 




copies in black-letter ; two of them in the Pe- 


Against his father raised warres 




pys library. 




Within the realme of France. 




When- as King Henry rulde this land, 




But yet before our comelye king 


45 


The second of that name, 




The English land forsooke, 




Besides the queene, he dearly lovde 




Of Rosamond, his lady faire, 




A faire and comely dame. 




His farewelle thus he tooke : 




Most peerlesse was her beautye founde, 


5 


" My Rosamonde, my only Rose, 




Her favour, and her face ; 




That pleasest best mine eye : 


50 


A sweeter creature in this worlde 




The fairest flower in all the worlde 




Could never prince embrace. 




To feed my fantasye : 




Her crisped lockes like threads of golde 




The flower of mine affected heart, 




Appeard to each mans sight ; 


10 


Whose sweetness doth excelle ; 




Her sparkling eyes, like Orient pearles, 




My royal Rose, a thousand times 


55 


Did cast a heavenlye light. 




I bid thee nowe farwelle ! 




The blood within her crystal cheekes 




For I must leave my fairest flower, 




Did such a colour drive, 




My sweetest Rose, a space, 




As though the lillye and the rose 


15 


And cross the seas to famous France, 




For mastership did strive. 




Proud rebelles to abase. 


60 


Yea Rosamonde, fair Rosamonde, 




But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt 




Her name was called so, 




My coming shortlye see, 




To whom our queene, dame Ellinor, 




And in my heart, when hence I am, 




Was known a dead lye foe. 


20 


He beare my Rose with mee." 




The king therefore, for her defence, 




When Rosamond, that ladye brighte, 


65 


Against the furious queene, 




Did heare the king saye soe, 




At Woodstocke builded such a bower, 




The sorrowe of her grieved heart 




The like was never seen. 




Her outward lookes did showe ; 




Most curiously that bower was built 


25 


And from her cleare and crystall eyes 




Of stone and timber strong, 




The teares gusht out apace, 


70 


An hundred and fifty doors 




Which like the silver-pearled dewe 




Did to this bower belong : 




Ranne down her comely face. 




And they so cunninglye contriv'd 




Her lippes, erst like the corall redde, 




With turnings round about, 


30 


Did waxe both wan and pale, 




That none but with a clue of thread 




And for the sorrowe she conceivde 


75 


Could enter in or out. 




Her vital 1 spirits faile ; 





FAIR ROSAMOND. 



223 



And falling down all in a swoone 

Before king Henryes face, 
Full oft he in his princelye armes 

Her bodye did embrace ; 80 

And twentye times, with watery eyes, 

He kist her tender cheeke, 
Until he had revivde againe 

Her senses milde and meeke. 

Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose ? 

The king did often say. 86 

Because, quoth shee, to bloodye warres 

My lord must part awaye. 

But since your grace on forrayne coastes 
Amonge your foes unkinde 90 

Must goe to hazarde life and limbe, 
"Why should I staye behinde ? 

Nay rather, let me, like a page, 

Yoursworde and target beare; 
That on my breast the blowes may lighte, 

Which would offend you there. 96 

Or lett mee, in your royal tent, 

Prepare your bed at nighte, 
And with sweete baths refresh your grace, 

At your returne from fighte. 100 

So I your presence may enjoye, 

No toil I will refuse ; 
But wanting you, my life is death : 

Nay, death He rather choose. 

" Content thy self, my dearest love ; 105 

Thy rest at home shall bee 
In Englandes sweet and pleasant isle ; 

For travell fits not thee. 

Faire ladies brooke not bloodye warres ; 

Soft peace their sexe delightes: 110 

' Not rugged campes, but courtlye bowers ; 

Gay feastes, nor cruell fightes.' 

My Rose shall safely here abide, 

With musicke passe the day ; 
Whilst I, amonge the piercing pikes, 115 

My foes seeke far awaye. 

My Rose shall shine in pearle, and golde, 

Whilst Imo in armour dighte ; 
Gay galliards here my love shall dance, 

Whilst I my foes goe fighte. 120 

29 



And you, Sir Thomas, whom I truste 

To bee my loves defence ; 
Be carefull of my gallant Rose 

When I am parted hence." 

And therewithall he fetcht a sigh, 125 

As though his heart would breake : 

And Rosamonde, for very griefe, 
Not one plaine word could speake. 

And at their parting well they mighte 
In heart be grieved sore : 130 

After that daye faire Rosamonde 
The king did see no more. 

For when his grace had past the seas, 

And into France was gone ; 
With envious heart, Queene Ellinor, 135 

To Woodstocke came anone. 

And forth she calls this trustye knighte 

In an unhappy houre ; 
Who with his clue of twined thread, 

Came from this famous bower. 140 

And when that they had wounded him, 
The queene this thread did gette, 

And went where Iadye Rosamonde 
Was like an angell sette. 



145 



But when the queene with stedfast eye 

Beheld her beauteous face, 
She was amazed in her minde 

At her exceeding grace. 



Cast off from thee those robes, she said, 
That riche and costlye bee : 150 

And drinke thou up this deadlye draught, 
Which I have brought to thee. 



Then presentlye upon her knees 
Sweet Rosamonde did falle ; 

And pardon of the queene she craved 
For her offences all. 



155 



" Take pitty on my youthfull yeares, 
Faire Rosamonde did crye ; 

And lett mee not with poison stronge 
Enforced bee to dye. 

I will renounce my sinfull life, 
And in some cloyster bide ; 

Or else be banisht, if you please, 
To range the world soe wide. 



160 



224 



QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSION. 



And for the fault which I have done, 105 

Though I was forc'd theretoe, 
Preserve my life, and punish mee 

As you thinke meet to doe." 

And with these words, her lillie handes 
She wrunge full often there ; 170 

And downe along her lovely face 
Did trickle many a tearo. 

But nothing could this furious queene 

Therewith appeased bee ; 
The cup of deadlye poyson stronge, 175 

As she knelt on her knee, 

Shee gave this comclye dame to drinke ; 
Who tooke it in her hand, 



And from her bended knee arose, 

And on her feet did stand: 180 

And casting up her eyes to heaven, 

Shee did for mercye calle ; 
And drinking up the poison stronge, 

Her life she lost withalle. 

And when that death through everye limbe 
Had showde its greatest spite, 186 

Her chiefest foes did plaine confesse 
Shee was a glorious wight. 



Her body then they did entomb, 

When life was fled away, 
At Godstowe, neare to Oxford towne, 

As may be seene this day. 



190 



VIII. 



$UMtt towr's (fafcssimt. 



" Eleanor, the daughter and heiress of 
William duke of Guienne, and count of 
Poictou, had been married sixteen years to 
Louis VII. king of France, and had attended 
him in a croisade, which that monarch com- 
manded against the infidels ; but having lost 
the affections of her husband, and even fallen 
under some suspicions of gallantry with a 
handsome Saracen, Louis, more delicate than 
politic, procured a divorce from her, and re- 
stored her those rich provinces, which by her 
marriage she had annexed to the crown of 
France. The young count of Anjou, after- 
wards Henry II. King of England, though 
at that time but in his nineteenth year, 
neither discouraged by the disparity of age, 
nor by the reports of Eleanor's gallantry, 
made such successful courtship to that 
princess, that he married her six weeks after 
her divorce, and got possession of all her do- 
minions as a dowery. A marriage thus 
founded upon interest was not likely to be 
very happy : it happened accordingly. Ele- 
anor, who had disgusted her first husband by 
her gallantries, was no less offensive to her 
second by her jealousy: thus carrying to ex- 
tremity, in the different parts of her life, 



every circumstance of female weakness. She 
had several sons by Henry, whom she spirit- 
ed up to rebel against him ; and endeavour- 
ing to escape to them disguised in man's ap- 
parel in 1173, she was discovered and thrown 
into a confinement, which seems to have con- 
tinued till the death of her husband in 1189. 
She however survived him many years ; dy- 
ing in 1204, in the sixth year of the reign of 
her youngest son, John." See Hume's His- 
tory, 4to. vol. I. pp. 260, 307. Speed, Stowe, 
&c. 

It is needless to observe that the following 
ballad (given with some corrections, from an 
old printed copy) is altogether fabulous; 
whatever gallantries Eleanor encouraged in 
the time of her first husband, none are im- 
puted to her in that of her second. 

Queene Elianor was a sicke woman, 
And afraid that she should dye ; 

Then she sent for two fryars of France 
To speke with her speedilye. 

The king calld downe his nobles all, 5 

By one, by two, by three ; 
"Earl marshal], He go shrive the queene, 

And thou shalt wend with mee." 



QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSION. 



225 



A boone, a boone ; quoth earl marshal!, 
And fell on his bended knee ; 

That whatsoever Queene Elianor saye, 
No harme therof may bee. 



10 



He pawne my landes, the king then cryd, 

My sceptre, crowne, and all, 
Tbat whatsoere Queen Elianor sayes, 15 

No harme thereof shall fall. 

Do thou put on a fryars coat, 

And lie put on another ; 
And we will to Queen Elianor goe 

Like fryar and his brother. 20 

Thus both attired then they goe : 

When they came to Whitehall, 
The bells did ring, and the quiristers sing, 

And the torches did lighte them all. 

When that they came before the queene, 25 
They fell on their bended knee ; 

A boone, a boone, our gracious queene, 
That you sent so hastilee. 

Are you two fryars of France, she sayd, 
As I suppose you bee ? 30 

But if you are two Englishe fryars, 
You shall hang on the gallowes tree. 

We are two fryars of France, they sayd, 

As you suppose we bee, 
We have not been at any masse 35 

Sith we came from the sea. 

The first vile thing that ever I did, 

I will to you unfolde; 
Earl marshall had my maidenhead, 

Beneath this cloth of golde. 40 

That's a vile sinne, then sayd the king ; 

May God forgive it thee ! 
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall ; 

With a heavye heart spake hee. 



The next vile thing that ever I did, 45 

To you He not denye, 
I mJde a boxe of poyson strong, 

To poison King Henrye. 

Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king, 
May God forgive it thee ! 50 

Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall ; 
And I wish it so may bee. 

The next vile thing that ever I did, 

To you I will discover ; 
I poysoned fair Rosamonde, 55 

All in fair Woodstocke bower. 

Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king; 

May God forgive it thee ! 
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall; 

And I wish it so may bee. 60 

Do you see yonders little boye, 

A tossing of the balle? 
That is earl marshalls eldest sonne, 

And I love him the best of all. 

Do you see yonders little boye, 65 

A catching of the balle ? 
That is king Ilenryes youngest sonne, 

And I love him the worst of all. 

His head is fashyon'd like a bull ; 

Ilia nose is like a boare. 70 

No matter for that, king Henrye cryd, 

I love him the better therfore. 

The king pulled off his fryars coate, 

And appeared all in redde : 
She shrieked, and cryd, and wrung her hands, 

And sayd she was betrayde. 76 

The king lookt over his left shoulder, 

And a grimme look looked hee, 
Earl marshall, he sayd, but for my oathe 

Or hanged thou shouldst bee. 80 

Ver. 63, 67. She means that the eldest of these two was 
by the Earl Marshall, the youngest by the king. 



226 



THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN. 



IX. 



%\t Stur^rg g0tL 



Tnis poom, subscribed M. T. [perhaps in- 
vertedly for T. Marshall*], is preserved in 
" The Paradise of daintie Devises," quoted 
above in page 218. The two first stanzas 
may be found accompanied with musical 
notes in "An Ilowres Recreation in Musicke," 
&c, by Richard Alison, Lond., 1606, 4to. : 
usually bound up with three or four sets of 
" Madrigals set to Music by Thomas Weelkes, 
Lond., 1597, 1600, 1608, 4to." One of these 
madrigals is so complete an example of the 
Bathos that I cannot forbear presenting it to 
the reader. 

Thule, the period of cosmographie, | 
Doth vaunt of Hecla, whose sulphureous 
fire 
Doth melt the frozen clime, and thaw the skie, 
Trinacrian iEtna's flames ascend not hier : 
These things seeme wondrous, yet more won- 
drous I, 
Whose heart with feare doth freeze, with love 
doth fry. 

The Andelusian merchant, that returnes 

Laden with cutchinele and china dishes, 
Reports in Spaine, how strangely Fogo burnes 

Amidst an ocean full of flying fishes : 
These things seeme wondrous, yet more won- 
drous I, 
Whose heart with feare doth freeze, with love 
doth fry. 



Mr. Weelkes seems to have been of opinion 
with many of his brethren of later times, 
that nonsense was best adapted to display the 
powers of musical composure. 

The sturdy rock for all his strength 
By raging seas is rent in twaine : 

The marble stone is pearst at length, 
With little drops of drizling rain : 

The oxe doth yeeld unto the yoke, 5 

The Steele obeyeth the hammer stroke. 

The stately stagge, that seemes so stout, 
By yalping hounds at bay is set: 

The swiftest bird, that flies about, 

Is caught at length in fowler's net : 10 

The greatest fish, in deepest brooke, 

Is soon deceived by subtill hooke. 

Yea man himselfe, unto whose will 
All things are bounden to obey, 

For all his wit and worthie skill, 15 

Doth fade at length, and fall away. 

There is nothing but time doeth waste ; 

The heavens, the earth consume at last. 

But vertue sits triumphing still 

Upon the throne of glorious fame : 20 

Though spiteful death mans body kill, 
Yet hurts he not his vertuous name : 

By life or death what so betides, 

The state of vertue never slides. 



X. 



Waj §egpr's ga^kr of §rtmall-fen. 



This popular old ballad was written in the 
reign of Elizabeth, as appears not only from 
ver. 23, where the arms of England are called 
the " Queenes armes ;" but from its tune's 
being quoted in other old pieces, written in 
feer time. See the ballad on " Mary Ambree," 

* Vid. Athen. Ox. p. 152, 316. 



in this work. The late Mr. Guthrie assured 
the editor, that he had formerly seen another 
old song on the same subject, composed in 
a different measure from this ; which was 
truly beautiful, if we may judge from the 
only stanza he remembered. In this it was 
said of the old beggar, that " down his neck 



THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN. 



227 



his reverend lockes 

In comelye curies did wave ; 

And on his aged temples grewe 
The blossomes of the grave." 

The following Ballad is chiefly given from 
the Editor's folio MS., compared with two 
ancient printed copies : the concluding stan- 
zas, which contain the old Beggar's discovery 
of himself, are not, however, given from any 
of these, being very different from those of 
the vulgar ballad. Nor yet does the Editor 
offer them as genuine, but as a modern attempt 
to remove the absurdities and inconsistencies, 
which so remarkably prevailed in this part 
of the song, as it stood before : whereas, by 
the alteration of a few lines, the story is ren- 
dered much more affecting, and is reconciled 
to probability and true history. For this 
informs us, that at the decisive battle of Eve- 
sham (fought August 4, 1265), when Simon 
de Montfort, the great Earl of Leicester, was 
slain at the head of the barons, his eldest 
son, Henry, fell by his side, and, in conse- 
quence of that defeat, his whole family sunk 
for ever, the king bestowing their great 
honours and possessions on his second son, 
Edmund, Earl of Lancaster. 

PART THE FIRST. 

Itt was a blind beggar, had long lost his 

sight, 
He had a faire daughter of bewty most bright : 
And many a gallant brave suiter had shoe, 
For none was soe comelye as pretty Bessee. 

And though shee was of favor most faire, 5 
Yett seeing shee was but a poor beggars 

heyre, 
Of ancyent housekeepers despised was shee, 
Whose sonnes came as suitors to prettye 

Bessee. 

Wherefore in great sorrow faire Bessy did 

say, 
Good father, and mother, let me goe away, 10 
To sceke out my fortune, whatever itt bee. 
This suite then they granted to prettye 

Bessee. 

Then Bessy, that was of bewtye soe bright, 
All cladd in gray russett, and late in the 
night, 14 

From father and mother alone parted shee ; 
Who sighed and sobbed for prettye Bessee. 



Shee went till shee came to Stratford-le-Bow ; 
Then knew shee not whither, nor which way 

to goe : 
With teares shee lamented her hard destinle, 
So sadd and soe heavy was pretty Bessee. 20 

Shee kept on her journey untill it was day, 
And went unto Rumford along the hye way ; 
Where at the Queenes armes entertained was 

shee: 
Soe faire and wel favoured was pretty Bessee. 

Shee had not been there a month to an end, 25 
But master and mistres and all was her friend : 
And every brave gallant, that once did her 

see, 
Was straight-way enamourd of pretty Bessee. 

Great gifts they did send her of silver and 

gold, 
And in their songs daylye her love was ex- 
-told ; 30 

Her beawtye was blazed in every degree ; 
Soe faire and soe comelye was pretty Bessee. 

The young men of Rumford in her had their 

joy; 
Shoe shewed herself curteous, and modestlye 

coye ; 35 

And at her commandment still wold they bee ; 
Soe fayre and soe comlye was pretty Bessee. 

Foure suitors att once unto her did goe ; 
They craved her favor, but still she sayd noe ; 
I wold not wish gentles to marry with mee. 
Yett ever they honored prettye Bessee. 40 

The first of them was a gallant young knight, 
And he came unto her disguisde in the night, 
The second a gentleman of good degree, 
Who wooed and sued for prettye Bessee. 

A merchant of London, whose wealth was not 
small, 45 

He was the third suiter, and proper withall ; 

Her masters own sonne the fourth man must 
bee, 

Who swore he would dye for pretty Bessee. 

And, if thou wilt marry with mee, quoth the 

knight, 
He make thee a ladye with joy and delight ; 
My hart's so inthralled by thy bewtle, 51 
That soone I shall dye for prettye Bessee. 



228 



THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN. 



The gentleman sayd, Come, marry with mee, 
As fine as a ladye my Bessy shal bee : 
My life is distressed: heare me, quoth 
hee ; 55 

And grant me thy love, my prettye Bessee. 

Let me bee thy husband, the merchant cold 

say, 
Thou shalt live in London both gallant and 

gay ; 

My shippes shall bring home rych Jewells for 

thee, 
And I will for ever love pretty Bessee. 60 

Then Bessy shee sighed, and thus shee did 

say, 
My father and mother I meane to obey ; 
First gett there good will, and be faithfull to 

mee, 
And you shall enjoye your prettye Bessee. 

To every one this answer shee made, s^ 65 
Wherefore unto her they joyfullye sayd, 
This thing to fulfill wee all doe agree ; 
But where dwells thy father, my prettye 
Bessee ? 

My father, shee said, is soone to be seene : 
The seely blind beggar of Bednall-greene, 
That daylye sits begging for charitle, 71 

He is the good father of pretty Bessee. 

His markes and his tokens are knowen very 

well ; 
He alwayes is led with a dogg and a bell : 
A seely olde man, God knoweth, is hee, 75 
Yett hee is the father of pretty Bessee. 

Nay then, quoth the merchant, thou art not 

for mee : 
Nor, quoth the innholder, my wiffe thou shalt 

bee : 
I lothe, sayd the gentle, a beggars degree, 
And therefore, adewe, my pretty Bessee ! 80 

Why then, quoth the knight, hap better or 

worse, 
I waighe not true love by the waight of the 

pursse, 
And bewtye is bewtye in every degree ; 
Then welcome unto me, my pretty Bessee. 

With thee to thy father forthwith I will goe. 

Nay soft, quoth his kinsmen, it must not be 

soe : 86 



A poor beggars daughter noe ladye shall bee, 
Then take thy adew of pretty Bessee. 

But soone after this, by breake of the day 
The knight had from Rumford stole Bessy 

away. 90 

The younge men of Rumford, as thicke might 

bee, 
Rode after to feitch againe pretty Bessee. 

As swifte as the winde to ryde they were 
seene, 

Untill they came neare unto Bednall-greene ; 

And as the knight lighted most courteoushe, 

They all fought against him for pretty Bes- 
see. 96 

But rescew came speedilye over the plaine, 
Or else the young knight for his love had 

been slaine. 
This fray being ended, then straitway he see 
His kinsmen come rayling at pretty Bessee. 

Then spake the blind beggar, Although I bee 

poore, 101 

Yett rayle not against my child at my own 

doore : 
Though shee be not decked in velvett and 

pearle, 
Yett will I dropp angells with you for my 

girle. 104 

And then, if my gold may better her birthe, 
And equall the gold that you lay on the earth, 
Then neyther rayle nor grudge you to see 
The blind beggars daughter a lady to bee. 

But first you shall promise, and have itt well 

knowne, 
The gold that you drop shall all be your 

owne. 110 

With that they replyed, Contented bee wee. 
Then here's, quoth the beggar, for pretty 

Bessee. 

With that an angell he cast on the ground, 
And dropped in angells full three thousand* 

pound ; 114 

And oftentimes itt was proved most plaine, 
For the gentlemens one the beggar droppt 

twayne : 

* In the Editor's folio MS. it is 500Z. 



THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDN ALL-GREEN. 



229 



Soe that the place, wherein they did sitt, 

"With gold it was covered every whitt. 

The gentlemen then having dropt all their 

store, 
Sayd, Now, beggar, hold, for wee have noe 

more. 120 

Thou hast fulfilled thy promise arright. 
Then marry, quoth he, my girle to this 

knight ; 
And heere, added hee, I will now throwe you 

downe 
A hundred pounds more to buy her a gowne. 

The gentlemen all, that this treasure had 
seene, 125 

Admired the beggar of Bednall-greene : 
And all those, that were her suitors before, 
Their fleshe for very anger they tore. 

Thus was fair Besse matched to the knight, 
And then made a ladye in others despite : 
A fairer ladye there never was seene, 131 
Than the blind beggars daughter of Bednall- 
greene. 

But of their sumptuous marriage and feast, 
What brave lords and knights thither were 
prest, 134 

The second fitt* shall set forth to your sight 
With marveilous pleasure and wished delight. 



PART THE SECOND. 

Off a blind beggars daughter most bright, 
That late was betrothed unto a youuge 

knight ; 
All the discourse therof you did see; 
But now comes the wedding of pretty Bessee. 

Within a gorgeous palace most brave, 5 

Adorned with all the cost they cold have, 
This wedding was kept most sumptuouslie, 
And all for the creditt of pretty Bessee. 

All kind of dainties, and delicates sweete 
Were bought for the banquet, as it was most 
meete ; 10 

Partridge, and plover, and venison most free, 
Against the brave wedding of pretty Bessee. 



* See an Essay on the word Fit at the end of the Second 
Part. 



This marriage through England was spread 

by report, 
So that a great number thereto did resort 
Of nobles and gentles in every degree ; 15 
And all for the fame of prettye Bessee. 

To church then went this gallant younge 

knight ; 
His bride followed after, an angell most 

bright, 
With troopes of ladyes, the like nere was 

seene 
As went with sweete Bessy of Bednall-greene. 

This marryage being solempnized then, 21 
With musicke performed by the skilfullest 

men, 
The nobles and gentles sate downe at that 

tyde, 
Each one admiring the beautifull bryde. 

Now, after the sumptuous dinner was done, 
To talke, and to reason a number begunn : 26 
They talkt of the blind beggars daughter 

most bright, 
And what with his daughter he gave to the 

knight. 

Then spake the nobles, " Much marveil have 

wee, 
This jolly blind beggar wee cannot here see." 
My lords, quoth the bride, my father's so 

base, 31 

He is loth with his presence these states to 

disgrace. 

" The prayse of a woman in questyon to 

bringe 
Before her own face, were a flattering thinge; 
But wee thinke thy father's baseness, quoth 

they, 35 

Might by thy bewtye be cleane put awaye." 

They had noe sooner these pleasant words 

spoke, 

in con 

cloke ; 

A faire velvet capp, and a fether had hee,. 
And now a musicyan forsooth he wold bee. 

He had a daintye lute under his arme, 41 
He touched the strings, which made such a 
charme, 



230 



THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN. 



Saies, Please you to heare any musicke of 

mee, 
He sing you a song of pretty Bessee. 44 

With that his lute he twanged straigtway, 
And thereon begann most sweetlye to play ; 
And after that lessons were playd two or 

three, 
He strayn'd out this song most delicatclle. 

" A poore beggars daughter did dwell on a 
greene, 49 

Who for her faireness might well be a queene: 
A blithe bonny lasse, and a daintye was shee, 
And many one called her pretty Bessee. 

" ner father hee had noe goods, nor noe land, 
But beggd for a penny all day with his hand ; 
And yett to her marriage he gave thousands 
three,* 55 

And still he hath somewhat for pretty Bessee. 

" And if anyone here her birth doe disdaine, 
Her father is ready, with might and with 

maine, 
To proove shee is come of noble degree : 
Therfore never flout att prettye Bessee." 60 

With that the lords and the companye round 
With harty laughter were readye to swound : 
Att last said the lords, Full well we may see, 
The bride and the beggar's behoulden to thee. 

On this the bride all blushing did rise, 65 
The pearlie dropps standing within her faire 

eyes, 
pardon my father, grave nobles, quoth 

shee, 
That throughe blind affection thus, doteth on 



If this be thy father, the nobles did say, 
Well may he be proud of this happy day ; 70 
Yett by his countenance well may wee see, 
His birth and his fortune did never agree ; 

And therefore, blind man, we pray thee be- 
wray, 

(And looke that the truth thou to us doe say) 

Thy birth and thy parentage, what itt may 
bee ; 75 

For the love that thou bearest to pretty 
Bessee. 

* So the folio MS. 



" Then give me leave, nobles and gentles, 

each one, 
One song more to sing, and then I have done ; 
And if that itt may not winn good report, 79 
Then doe not give me a groat for my sport. 

" [Sir Simon de Montfort my subject shal bee; 
Once chiefe of all the great barons was hee, 
Yet fortune so cruelle this lorde did abase, 
Now loste and forgotten are hee and his race. 

"When the barons in amies did King Henrye 
oppose, 85 

Sir Simon de Montfort their leader they 
chose ; 

A leader of courage undaunted was hee, 

And oft-times he made their enemyes flee. 

" At length in the battle on Eveshame plakie 
The barons were routed, and Montfort was 
slaine ; 90 

Moste fatall that battel did prove unto thee, 
Thoughe thou wast not borne then, my pret- 
tye Bessee ! 

" Along with the nobles, that fell at that tyde, 
His eldest son Henrye, who fought by his 

side, 
Was felde by a blowe, he receivde in the 

fight ! 95 

A blowe that deprivde him for ever of sight. 

" Among the dead bodyes all lifelesse he laye, 
Till evening drewe on of the following daye, 
When by a yong ladye discoverd was hee ; 
And this was thy mother my prettye Bessee! 

" A barons faire daughter stept forth in the 
nighte 101 

To search for her father, who fell in the fight, 

And seeing yong Montfort, where gasping he 
laye, 

Was moved with pitye, and brought him 
awaye. 

" In secrette she nurst him, and swaged his 
paine, 105 

While he throughe the realme was beleevd 
to be slaine : 

At length his faire bride she consented to bee, 

And made him glad father of prettye Bessee. 

" And nowe lest oure foes our lives sholde 

betraye, 
We clothed ourselves in beggars arraye ; 110 



Her jewelles shee solde, and hither came wee: 
All our comfort and care was our prettye 
Bessee.] 

"And here have wee lived in fortunes despite, 
Thoughe poore, yet contented with humble 

delighte : 
Full forty winters thus have I beene 115 
A silly blind beggar of Bednall-greene. 

" And here, noble lordes, is ended the song 
Of one, that once to your own ranke did 

belong : 
And thus have you learned a secrette from 

mee, 
That ne'er had beene knowne, but for prettye 

Bessee." 120 

Now when the faire companye everye one, 
Had heard the strange tale in the song he 

had showne, 
They all were amazed, as well they might 

bee, 
Both at the blinde beggar, and pretty Bessee. 

With that the faire bride they all did em- 
brace, 125 

Saying, Sure thou art come of an honourable 
race, 

Thy father likewise is of noble degree, 

And thou art well worthy a lady to bee. 

Thus was the feast ended with joye and de- 
lighte, 

A bridegroome most happy then was the 
younge knighte, 130 

In joy and felicitie long lived hee, 

All with his faire ladye, the pretty Bessee. 

fit The word fit for part, often occurs in 
our ancient ballads and metrical romances ; 
which being divided into several parts for the 
convenience of singing them at public enter- 
tainments, were in the intervals of the feast 
sung by fits, or intermissions. So Putten- 
ham in his art of English Poesie, 1589, says, 
" the Epithalamie was divided by breaches 
into three partes to serve for three several 
fits, or times to be sung." P. 41. 

From the same writer we learn some cu- 
rious particulars relative to the state of bal- 
lad-singing in that age, that will throw light 
on the present subject : speaking of the quick 
returns of one manner of tune in the short 
30 



measures used by common rhymers ; these, 
he says, " glut the eare, unless it be in small 
and popular musickes, sung by these Canta- 
banqui upon benches and barrels heads, 
where they have none other audience then 
boys or countrey fellowes, that passe by 
them in the streete ; or else by blind harpers, 
or such like taverne Minstrels, that gave a fit 
of mirth for a groat, . . their matter being 
for the most part stories of old time, as the 
tale of Sir Topas, the reportes of Bevis of 
Southampton, Guy of Warwicke, Adam Bell 
and Clymme of the Clough, and such other 
old romances or historical rimes, made pur- 
posely for recreation of the common people 
at Christmasse dinners and brideales, and in 
tavernes and alehouses, and such other places 
of base resorte." P. 69. 

This species of entertainment, which seems 
to have been handed down from the ancient 
bards, was in the time of Puttenham falling 
into neglect ; but that it was not, even then, 
wholly excluded more genteel assemblies, he 
gives us room to infer from another passage, 
"We ourselves," says this courtly* writer, 
"have written for pleasure a little brief ro- 
mance, or historical ditty in the English tong 
of the Isle of Great Britaine in short and long 
meetres, and by breaches or divisions [i. e. 
fits] to be more commodiously sung to the 
harpe in places of assembly, where the com- 
pany shal be desirous to heare of old adven- 
tures, and valiaunces of noble knights in 
times past, as are those of King Arthur and 
his knights of the Round Table, Sir Bevys 
of Southampton, Guy of Warwicke, and 
others like." P. 33. 

In more ancient times no grand scene of 
festivity was complete without one of these 
reciters to entertain the company with feats 
of arms, and tales of knighthood, or, as one 
of these old minstrels says, in the beginning 
of an ancient romance on Guy and Colbronde, 
in the Editors folio MS. 

" When meate and drinke is great plentye, 
And lords and ladyes still wil bee, 

And sitt and solace lythe ;t 
Then itt is time for mee to speake 
Of keene knightes, and kempes great, 

Such carping for to kythe." 

* He was one of Queen Elizabeth's gent, pensioners, at a 
time when the whole hand consisted of men of distinguished, 
birth and fortune. Vid. Ath. Ox. 

f Perhaps " blythe." 



232 



THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF EKDX ALL-GI1KKN'. 



If we consider that a groat in the age of 
Elizabeth was more than equivalent to a 
shilling now, we shall find that the old harp- 
ers were even then, when their art was on 
the decline, upon a far more reputable foot- 
ing than the ballad-singers of our time. The 
reciting of one such ballad as this of the 
Beggar of Bednall-green, in two parts, was 
rowarded with half a crown of our money. 
And that they made a very respectable ap- 
pearance, we may learn from the dress of the 
old beggar, in the preceding ballad, p. 229, 
where he comes into company in the habit 
and character of one of these minstrels, 
being not known to be the bride's father, till 
after her speech, ver. 03. The exordium of 
his song, and his claiming a groat for his re- 
ward, ver. 80, are peculiarly characteristic 
of that profession. — Most of the old ballads 
begin in a pompous manner, in order to cap- 
tivate the attention of the audience, and in- 
duce them to purchase a recital of the song : 
and they seldom conclude the first part with- 
out large promises of still greater entertain- 
ment in the second. This was a necessary 
piece of art to incline the hearers to be at the 
expense of a second groat's worth. — Many of 
the old romances extend to eight or nine fits, 
which would afford a considerable profit to 
the reciter. 

To return to the word fit ; it seems at one 
time to have peculiarly signified the pause, or 
breathing-time, between the several parts 
(answering to Passus in the visions of Pierce 
Plowman): thus in the ancient ballad of 
" Chevy-Chase," (p. 55,) the first Part ends 
with this line, 

" The first fit here I fynde :" 

i. e. here I come to the first pause or inter- 
mission. (See also p. 58.) By degrees it 
came to signify the whole part or division 
preceding the pause. (See the concluding 
verses of the first and second parts of " Adam 
Bell, Clym of the Clough, and William of 
Cloudesly," in this work.) This sense it had 
obtained so early as the time of Chaucer: 
who thus concludes the first part of his rhyme 
of Sir Thopas (writ in ridicule of the old 
ballad romances) : 



" Lo ! lordis mine, here is a fitt ; 
If ye woll any more of it, 
To tell it woll I fonde." 

The word fit indeed appears originally to 
have signified a poetic strain, verse, or poem: 
for in these senses it is used by the Anglo- 
Saxon writers. Thus King iElfred in his 
Boetius, having given a version of lib. 3, 
metr. 5, adds, Dape pip bom tha thap 
piece apunjen hajpbe p. 65, i.e. "When 
wisdom had sung these [fitts] verses." And 
in the Proem to the same book Fon on piece, 
" Put into [fitt] verse." So in Cedmon, p. 
45, Feonb on piece, seems to mean 
" composed a song," or " poem." The reader 
will trace this old Saxon phrase, in the appli- 
cation of the word fond, in the foregoing 
passage of Chaucer. See Gloss. 

Spenser has used the word fit to denote " a 
strain of music :" see his poem entitled 
" Collin Clout's come home again," where he 
says, 

The Shepherd of the ocean [Sir W. Raleigh.'] 

Provoked me to play some pleasant fit. m 

And when he heard the music which I 

made 
He found himselfe full greatly e pleas'd at 

it, &c. 

It is also used in the old ballad of King 
Estmere, p. 16, v. 243. 

Fi'om being applied to music, this word 
was easily transferred to dancing ; thus in the 
old play of " Lusty Juventus" (described in 
p. 117), Juventus says, 

By the masse I would fayne go daunce a fitte. 

And from being used as a part or divi- 
sion in a ballad, poem, &c, it is applied by 
Bale to a section or chapter in a book, 
(though I believe in a sense of ridicule or 
sarcasm) for thus he entitles two chapters 

of his " English Dotaryes," pai-t 2, viz. 

fol. 49, " The first fytt of Anselme with Kynge 

Wyllyam Evfas." fol. 50, " An other fytt 

of Anselme with Kynge Wyllyam Jinfas." 



FANCY AND DESIRE. 



233 



XI. 



faiug oft Jtsin. 



BY THE EARL OF OXFORD. 



Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford, was in high 
fame for his poetical talents in the reign of 
Elizabeth : perhaps it is no injury to his re- 
putation that few of his compositions are pre- 
served for the inspection of impartial pos- 
terity. To gratify curiosity, we have inserted 
a sonnet of his, which is quoted with great 
encomiums for its "excellencie and wit," in 
Puttenham's "Arte of Eng. Poesie ;"* and 
found entire in the " Garland of Good-will." 
A few more of his sonnets (distinguished by 
the initial letters E. 0.) may be seen in the 
"Paradise of Daintie Devises." One of these 
is entitled, " The Complaint of a Lover, wear- 
ing blacke and tawnie." The only lines in it 
worth notice are these, 

A crowne of baies shall that man ' beare' 

Who triumphs over me ; 
For black and tawnie will I weare, 

Which mourning colours be. 

We find in Hall's Chronicle, that when 
Queen Catharine of Arragon died, Jan. 8, 
1536, " Queen Anne [Bullen] ware yellowe 
for the mourning." And when this unfortu- 
nate princess lost her head, May 19, the 
same year, " on the ascencion day following, 
the kyng for mourning ware whyte." Fol. 
227 228. 

Edward, who was the seventeenth Earl of 
Oxford, of the family of Vere, succeeded his 
father in his title and honours in 1562, and 
died an aged man in 1604. See Mr. Wal- 
pole's Noble Authors. Athen. Oxon. &c. 

Come hither shepherd's swayne: 

" Sir, what do you require?" 
I praye thee, shewe to me thy name. 

My name is " Fond Desire." 



* Loud. 1589 p. IT-. 1 . 



When wert thou borne, Desire? 5 

"In pompe and pryme of may." 

By whom, sweet boy, wert thou begot? 
"By fond Conceit men say." 

Tell me, who was thy rturse ? 

" Fresh Youth in sugred joy." 10 

What was thy meate and dayly foode ? 

" Sad sighes with great annoy." 



What hadst thou then to drinke ? 

" Unsavoury lovers teares." 
What cradle wert thou rocked in ? 

" In hope devoyde of feares." 



15 



What lulld thee then asleepe? 

" Sweete speech, which likes me best." 
Tell me, where is thy dwelling place ? 

" In gentle hartes I rest." 20 

What thing doth please thee most? 

" To gaze on beautye stille." 
Whom dost thou thinke to be thy foe 

" Disdayn of my good wille." 

Doth companye displease ? 25 

"Yes, surelye, many one." 
Where doth Desire delighte to live ? 

" He loves to live alone." 

Doth either tyme or age 

Bringe him unto decaye? 30 

" No, no, Desire both lives and dyes 

Ten thousand times a daye." 

Then, fond Desire, farewelle, 

Thou art no mate for mee ; 
I sholde be lothe, methinkes, to dwelle 35 

With such a one as thee. 



234 



SIR ANDREW BARTON. 



XII. 



Sir gMwto §arton. 



I cannot give a better relation of the fact, 
which is the subject of the following ballad, 
than in an extract from the late Mr. Guthrie's 
Peerage ; which was begun upon a very ele- 
gant plan, but never finished. Vol. I., 4to. 
p. 22. 

" The transactions which did the greatest 
honour to the Earl of Surrey* and his family 
at this time [A. D. 1511], was their behaviour 
in the case of Barton, a Scotch sea officer. 
This gentleman's father having suffered by 
sea from the Portuguese, he had obtained let- 
ters of marque for his two sons to make re- 
prisals upon the subjects of Portugal. It is 
extremely probable, that the court of Scot- 
land granted these letters with no very ho- 
nest intention. The council board of England, 
at which the Earl of Surrey held the chief 
place, was daily pestered with complaints 
from the sailors and merchants, that Barton, 
who was called Sir Andrew Barton, under 
pretence of searching for Portuguese goods, 
interrupted the English navigation. Henry's 
situation at that time rendered him backward 
from breaking with Scotland, so that their 
complaints were but coldly received. The 
Earl of Surrey, however, could not smother 
his indignation, but gallantly declared at the 
council board, that while he had an estate 
that could furnish out a ship, or a son that 
was capable of commanding one, the narrow 
seas should not be infested. 

" Sir Andrew Barton, who commanded the 
two Scotch ships, had the reputation of being 
one of the ablest sea officers of his time. By 
his depredations, he had amassed greatwealth, 
and his ships were very richly laden. Henry, 
notwithstanding his situation, could not re- 
fuse the generous offer made by the Earl of 
Surrey. Two ships were immediately fitted 
out, and put to sea with letters of marque, 
under his two sons, Sir Thomasf and Sir Ed- 



* Thomas Howard, afterwards created Duke of Nor- 
folk. 

t Called by old historians Lord Howard, afterwards 
created Earl of Surrey in his father's lifetime. He was 
father of the poetical Earl of Surrey. 



ward Howard. After encountering a great 
deal of foul weather, Sir Thomas came up 
with the Lion, which was commanded by Sir 
Andrew Barton in person ; and Sir Edward 
came up with the Union, Barton's other ship 
[called by Hall, the Bark of Scotland]. The 
engagement which ensued was extremely ob- 
stinate on both sides ; but at last the fortune 
of the Howards prevailed. Sir Andrew was 
killed, fighting bravely, and encouraging his 
men with his whistle, to hold out to the last ; 
and the two Scotch ships, with their crews, 
were carried into the River Thames. [Aug. 
2, 1511.] 

" This exploit had the more merit, as the 
two English commanders were in a manner 
volunteers in the service, by their father's 
order. But it seems to have laid the founda- 
tion of Sir Edward's fortune ; for, on the 7th 
of April, 1512, the king constituted him (ac- 
cording to Dugdale) admiral of England, 
Wales, &c. 

" King James ' insisted' upon satisfaction 
for the death of Barton, and capture of his 
ship : ' though' Henry had generously dis- 
missed the crews, and even agreed that the 
parties accused might appear in his courts of 
admiralty by their attorneys, to vindicate 
themselves." This affair was in a great mea- 
sure the cause of the battle of Flodden, in 
which James IV. lost his life. 

In the following ballad will be found per- 
haps some few deviations from the truth of 
history: to atone for which it has probably 
recorded many lesser facts, which history 
hath not condescended to relate. I take many 
of the little circumstances of the story to be 
real, because I find one of the most unlikely 
to be not very remote from the truth. In 
Part 2, v. 156, it is said, that England had 
before "but two ships of war." Now the 
" Great Harry" had been built only seven 
years before, viz., in 1504 : which " was pro- 
perly speaking the first ship in the English 
navy. Before this period, when the prince 
wanted a fleet, he had no other expedient 
but hiring ships from the merchants." Hume. 



SIR ANDREW BARTON. 



235 



This ballad, which appears to have been 
• written in the reign of Elizabeth, has received 
great improvements from the Editor's folio 
MS., wherein was an ancient copy, which, 
though very incorrect, seemed in many re- 
spects superior to the common ballad ; the lat- 
ter being evidently modernized and abridged 
from it. The following text is however in 
some places amended and improved by the 
latter (chiefly from a black-letter copy in the 
Pepys collection), as also by conjecture. 

THE FIRST PART. 

"When Flora with her fragrant flowers 

Bedeckt the earth so trim and gaye, 
And Neptune with his daintye showers 

Came to present the monthe of Maye ;"* 
King Henrye rode to take the ayre, 5 

Over the river of Thames past hee ; 
When eighty merchants of London came, 

And downe they knelt upon their knee. 

"0 yee are welcome, rich merchants ; 

Good saylors, welcome unto mee." 10 

They swore by the rood, they were saylors 
good, 

But rich merchants they cold not bee : 
" To France nor Flanders dare we pass : 

Nor Borudeaux voyage dare we fare ; 
And all for a rover that lyes on the seas, 15 

Who robbs us of our merchant ware." 

King Henrye frownd, and turned him rounde, 

And swore by the Lord, that was mickle 
of might, 
" I thought he had not beene in the world, 

Durst have wrought England such un- 
right." 20 

The merchants sighed, and said, alas ! 

And thus they did their answer frame, 
He is a proud Scott, that robbs on the seas, 

And Sir Andrewe Barton is his name. 

The king lookt over his left shoulder, 25 

And an angrye look then looked hee : 
" Have I never a lorde in my realme, 

Will feitch yond traytor unto mee ?" 
Yea, that dare I ; Lord Howard sayes ; 

Yea, that dare I with heart and hand ; 30 
If it please your grace to give me leave, 

Myselfe wil be the only man. 

V. 15, 83, robber, MS. V. 29, Lord Charles Howard, MS. 
* From the pr. copy. 



Thou art but yong ; the kyng replyed : 

Yond Scott hath numbred manye a yeare. 
" Trust me, my liege, He make him quail, 35 

Or before my prince I will never appeare." 
Then bowemen and gunners thou shalt have, 

And chuse them over my realme so free ; 
Besides good mariners, and shipp-boyes, 

To guide the great shipp on the sea. 40 

The first man, that Lord Howard chose, 

Was the ablest gunner in all the realm, 
Thoughe he was threescore yeeres and ten ; 

Good Peter Simon was his name. 
Peter, sais hee, I must to the sea, 45 

To bring home a traytor live or dead : 
Before all others I have chosen thee ; 

Of a hundred gunners to be the head. 

If you, my lord, have chosen mee 

Of a hundred gunners to be the head, 50 
Then hang me up on your maine-mast tree, 

If I misse my marke one shilling bread.* 
My lord then chose a boweman rare, 

" Whose active hands had gained fame."f 
In Yorkshire was this gentleman borne, 55 

And William Ilorseley was his name.J 

Horseley, sayd he, I must with speede 

Go seeke a traytor on the sea, 
And now of a hundred bowemen brave 

To be the head I have chosen thee. 60 
If you, quoth hee, have chosen mee 

Of a hundred bowemen to be the head ; 
On your main-mast He hanged bee, 

If I miss twelvescore one penny bread. 

With pikes and gunnes, and bowemen bold, 

This noble Howard is gone to the sea ; 66 
With a valyant heart and a pleasant cheare, 

Out at Thames mouth sayled he. 
And days he scant had sayled three, 

Upon the ' voyage,' he tooke in hand, 70 
But there he mett with a noble shipp, 

And stoutely made itt stay and stand. 

Thou must tell me, Lord Howard said, 
Now who thou art, and what's thy name ; 

And shewe me where thy dwelling is : 75 
And whither bound, and whence thou came. 



Ver. 70, Journey, MS. 

* An old English word for breadth. t Pr- copy. 

X Mr. Lambe, in his Notes to the Poem on the Battle of 
Flodden Field, contends, that this expert bowman's name 
was not Horseley, but Hustler, of a family long seated near 
Stockton, in Cleveland, Yorkshire. Vid. p. 6. 



236 



SIR ANDREW BARTON. 



My name is Henry Hunt, quoth hee, 

With a heavye heart, and a carefull mind ; 

I and my shipp doe both belong 79 

To the Newcastle, that stands upon Tyne. 

Hast thou not heard, nowe, Henrye Hunt, 

As thou hast sayled by daye and by night, 
Of a Scottish rover on the seas ; 

Men call him Sir Andrew Barton, knight? 
Then ever he sighed, and sayd alas ! 85 

With a grieved mind, and well away! 
But over-well I knowe that wight, 

I was his prisoner yesterday. 

As I was sayling uppon the sea, 

A Burdeaux voyage for to fare ; 90 

To his hach-borde he clasped me, 

And robd me of all my merchant ware: 
And mickle debts, God wot, 1 owe, 

And every man will have his owne, 
And I am nowe to London bounde, 95 

Of our gracious king to beg a boone. 

That shall not need, Lord Howard sais ; 

Lett me but once that robber see, 
For every penny tane thee froe 

It shall bo doubled shillings three. 100 
Nowe Gode forefend, the merchant said, 

That you shold seek soe far amisse ! 
God keepe you out of that traitors hands ! 

Full litle ye wott what a man hee is. 

Hee is brasse within, and Steele without, 105 

With beanies on his topcastle stronge; 
And eighteen pieces of ordinance 

He carries on each side along : 
And he hath a pinnace deerlye dight, 

St. Andrewes crosse that is his guide ; 110 
His pinnace beareth ninescore men, 

And fifteen canons on each side. 

Were ye twentye shippes, and he but one ; 

I sweare by kirke, and bower, and hall ; 
He wold overcome them everye one, . 115 

If once his beames they doe downe fall.* 

V. 91, The MS. baa here Arch-horde, but in Part II. v. 
5, Hachebord. 

* It should seem from hence, that before our marine 
artillery was brought to its present perfection, some naval 
commanders had recourse to instruments or machines, 
similar in use, though perhaps unlike in construction, to 
the heavy Dolphins made of lea/1 or iron used by the ancient 
Greeks; which they suspended from beams or yards 
fastened to the mast, and which they precipitately let fall 
on the enemies' ships, in order to sink them, by beating 



This is cold comfort, sais my lord, 

To wellcome a stranger thus to the sea: 

Yet lie bring him and his shipp to shore, 
Or to Scottland hee shall carrye mee. 120 

Then a noble gunner you must have, 

And lie must aim well with his ee, 
And sinke his pinnace into the sea, 

Or else hee never orecome will bee : 
And if you chance his shipp to borde, 125 

This counsel I must give withall, 
Let no man to his topcastle goe 

To strive to let his beams downe fall. 

And seven pieces of ordinance, 

I pray your honour lend to mee, 130 

On each side of my shipp along, 

And I will lead you on the sea. 
A glasse He sett, that may be seene, 

Whether you sayle by day or night ; 
And to-morrowe, I sweare, by nine of the 
clocke, 135 

You shall meet with Sir Andrewe Barton 
knight. 

THE SECOND FART. 

The merchant sett my lorde a glasse 

Soe well apparent in his sight, 
And on the morrowe, by nine of the clocke, 

He shewed him Sir Andrewe Barton 
knight. 
His hachebord it was 'gilt' with gold, 5 

Soe deerlye dight it dazzled the ee : 
Nowe by my faith, Lord Howarde sais, 

This is a gallant sight to see. 

Take in your ancyents, standards eke, 

So close that no man may them see ; 10 
And put me forth a white willowe wand, 

As merchants use to sayle the sea. 
But they stirred neither top, nor mast;* 

Stoutly they past Sir Andrew by. 
What English churles are yonder, he sayd, 

That can soe litle curtesye ? 16 

Yer. 5, 'hached with gold,' MS. 

holes through the bottoms of their undecked Triremes, or 
otherwise damaging them. These are mentioned by Thu- 
cydides, lib. 7, p. 256, Ed. 1564, folio, and are more fully 
explained in Scheffer de Militia Navali, lib. 2, cap. 5, p. 136, 
Ed. 1653, 4to. 

N. B. It everywhere in the MS. seems to be written 
Beanes. 

* i. e. did not salute. 



SIR ANDREW BARTON. 



237 



Now by the roode, three yeares and more 

I have beene admirall over the sea; 
And never an English nor Portingall 

Without my leave can passe this way. 20 
Then called he forth his stout pinnace ; 

" Fetch backe yond pedlars nowe to mee : 
I sweare by the masse, yon English churles 

Shall all hang att my maine-mast tree." 

With that the pinnace itt shott off, 25 

Full well Lord Howard might it ken ; 
For itt stroke down my lord's fore mast, 

And killed fourteen of his men. 
Come hither, Simon, sayes my lord, 

Looke that thy word be true, thou said ; 30 
For at my maine-mast thou shall hang, 

If thou misse thy marke one shilling bread. 

Simon was old, but his heart itt was bold, 

His ordinance he laid right lowe ; 
He put in chaine full nine yardes long, 35 

With other great shott lesse, and moe; 
And he lette goe his great gunnes shott : 

Soe well he settled itt with his ee, 
The first sight that Sir Andrew sawe, 

He see his pinnace sunke in the sea. 40 

And when he saw his pinnace sunke, 

Lord, how his heart with rage did swell ! 
" Nowe cutt my ropes, itt is time to be gon ; 

He fetch yond pedlars backe mysell." 
When my Lord sawe Sir Andrewe loose, 45 

Within his heart hee was full faine : 
" Nowe spread your ancyents, strike up 
drummes, 

Sound all your trumpetts out amaine." 

Fight on, my men, Sir Andrewe sais, 

Weale howsoever this geere will sway ; 50 
Itt is my lord admirall of England, 

Is come to seeke mee on the sea. 
Simon had a sonne, who shott right well, 

That did Sir Andrewe mickle scare ; 
In att his decke he gave a shott, 55 

Killed threescore of his men of warre. 

Then Henrye Hunt with rigour hott 

Came bravely on the other side, 
Soone he drove downe his fore-mast tree, 

And killed fourscore men beside. 60 

Nowe, out alas ! Sir Andrewe cryed, 

What may a man now thinke, or say? 
Yonder merchant theefe, that pierceth mee, 

He was my prisoner yesterday. 

Ver. 35, i. e. discharged chain shot 



Come hither to me, thou Gordon good, 65 

That aye wast readye att my call ; 
I will give thee three hundred markes, 

If thou wilt let my beames downe fall. 
Lord Howard hee then calld in haste, 69 

" Horseley see thou be true in stead ; 
For thou shalt at the maine-mast hang, 

If thou misse tw^elvescore one penny bread." 

Then Gordon swarved the maine-mast tree, 

He swarved it with might and maine ; 
But Horseley with a bearing arrowe, 75 

Stroke the Gordon through the braine ; 
And he fell unto the baches again, 

And sore his deadlye wounde did bleede : 
Then word went through Sir Andrews men, 

How that the Gordon hee was dead. 80 

Come hither to mee, James Hambilton, 

Thou art my only sisters sonne, 
If thou wilt let my beames downe fall, 

Six hundred nobles thou hast wonne. 
With that he swarved the maine-mast tree, 

He swarved it with nimble art ; 86 

But Horseley with a broad arrowe 

Pierced the Hambilton thorough the heart : 

And downe he fell upon the deck, 

That with his blood did streame amaine : 
Then every Scott cryed, Well-away ! 91 

Alas a comelye youth is slaine ! 
All woe begone was Sir Andrew then, 

With griefe and rage his heart did swell: 
" Go fetch me forth my armour of proofe, 95 

For I will to the topcastle mysell." 

" Goe fetch me forth my armour of proofe ; 

That gilded is with gold soe cleare : 
God be with my brother John of Barton ! 

Against the Portingalls hee it ware ; 100 
And when he had on this armour of proofe, 

He was a gallant sight to see : 
Ah ! nere didst thou meet with living wight, 

My deere brother, could cope with thee." 

Come hither, Horseley, sayes my lord, 105 

And looke your shaft that itt goe right, 
Shoot a good shoote in time of need, 

And for it thou shalt be made a knight. 
He shoot my best, quoth Horseley then, 

Your honour shall see, with might and 
maine; 110 

But if I were hanged at your maine-mast, 

I have now left but arrowes twaine. 

Ver. 67, 84, pounds, MS. V. 75, bearings, sc. that carries 
well, &c. But see Gloss. 



Sir Andrew he did swarve the tree, 

With right good will he swarved then: 
Upon his breast did Horsley hitt, 115 

But the arrow bounded back agen. 
Then Horseley spyed a privye place 

With a perfect eye in a secrette part ; 
Under the spole of his right arme 

He smote Sir Andrew to the heart. 120 

" Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew sayes, 

A little Ime hurt, but yett not slaine ; 
He but lye downe and bleede a while, 

And then He rise and fight againe. 
Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew sayes, 125 

And never flinche before the foe ; 
And stand fast by St. Andrewes crosse 

Untill you heare my whistle blowe." 

They never heard his whistle blow, — ■ 

Which made their hearts waxe sore adread : 
Then Horseley sayd, Aboard, my lord, 131 

For well I wott Sir Andrew's dead. 
They boarded then his noble shipp, 

They boarded it with might and maine ; 
Eighteen score Scots alive they found, 135 

The rest were either maimed or slaine. 

Lord Howard tooke a sword in hand, 

And off he smote Sir Andrewes head, 
" I must have left England many a daye, 

If thou wert alive as thou art dead." 140 
He caused his body to be cast 

Over the hatchbord into the sea, 
And about his middle three hundred crownes: 

" Wherever thou land this will bury thee." 

Thus from the warres Lord Howard came, 

And backe he sayled ore the maine, 146 
With mickle joy and triumphing 

Into Thames mouth he came againe. 
Lord Howard then a letter wrote, 

And sealed it with seale and ring ; 150 
" Such a noble prize have I brought to your 
grace 

As never did subject to a king. 

" Sir Andrewes shipp I bring with mee ; 
A braver shipp was never none : 154 



Nowe hath your grace two shipps'of warr, 
Before in England was but one." 

King Henryes grace with royall cheere 
Welcomed the noble Howard home, 

And where, said he, is this rover stout, 
That I myselfe may give the doome ? 160 

" The rover, he is safe, my leige, 

Full many a fadom in the sea ; 
If he were alive as he is dead, 

I must have left England many a day : 
And your grace may thank four men i' the 
ship 165 

For the victory wee have wonne, 
These are William Horseley, Henry Hunt, 

And Peter Simon, and his sonne." 

To Henry Hunt, the king then sayd, 

In lieu of what was from thee tane, 170 
A noble a day now thou shalt have, 

Sir Andrewes jewels and his chayne. 
And Horseley thou shalt be a knight, 

And lands and livings shalt have store ; 
Howard shall be Erie Surrye hight, 175 

As Howards erst have beene before. 

Nowe, Peter Simon, thou art old, 

I will maintaine thee and thy sonne: 
And the men shall have five hundred markes 

For the good service they have done. 180 
Then in came the queene with ladyes fair 

To see Sir Andrewe Barton knight ; 
They weend that hee were brought on shore, 

And thought to have seen a gallant sight. 

But when they see his deadlye face, 185 

And eyes soe hollow in his head, 
I wold give, quoth the king, a thousand 
markes, 
This man were alive as hee is dead : 
Yett for the manfull part hee playd, 
Which fought soe well with heart and 
hand, 190 

His men shall have twelvepence a day, 
Till they come to my brother kings high 
land. *-* 



Ver. 175, 6 . . . Erie of Nottingham, And boo was never 
&c, MS. 



LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. 



239 



XIII. 



Sa&g &mt SotpdFs f mitt. 



A SCOTTISH SONG. 



The subject of this pathetic ballad the 
Editor once thought might possibly relate to 
the Earl of Bothwell, and his desertion of his 
wife Lady Jean Gordon, to make room for 
his marriage with the Queen of Scots. But 
this opinion he now believes to be ground- 
less ; indeed Earl Bothwell's age, who was 
upwards of sixty at the time of that mar- 
riage, renders it unlikely that he should be 
the object of so warm a passion as this elegy 
supposes. He has been since informed, that 
it entirely refers to a private story. A young 
lady of the name of Bothwell, or rather Bos- 
well, having been, together with her child, 
deserted by her husband or lover, composed 
these affecting lines herself; which here are 
given from a copy in the Editor's folio MS., 
corrected by another in Allan Ramsay's Mis- 
cellany. 

Balow, my babe, lye still and sleipe ! 
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe : 
If thoust be silent, Ise be glad, 
Thy maining maks my heart ful sad. 
Balow, my boy, thy mothers joy, 5 

Thy father breides me great annoy. 
Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe, 
It grieves me sair to see thee weepe. 

"Whan he began to court my luve, 

And with his sugred wordes* to muve, 10 

His faynings fals, and flattering cheire 

To me that time did not appeire : 

But now I see, most cruell hee 

Cares neither for my babe nor mee. 

Balow, &c. 15 

* When sugar was first imported into Europe, it was a 
very great dainty; and therefore the epithet sugred is used 
by all our old writers metaphorically to express extreme 
and delicate sweetness. (See above, No. XI. v. 10.) Sugar 
at present is cheap and common ; and therefore suggests 
now a coarse and vulgar idea. 



Lye still, my darling, sleipe a while, 
And when thou wakest, sweitly smile : 
But smile not, as thy father did, 
To cozen maids : nay God forbid ! 
Bot yett I feire, thou wilt gae neire 
Thy fatheris hart, and face to beire. 
Balow, &c. 

I cannae chuse, but ever will 
Be luving to thy father still : 
Whair-eir he gae, whair-eir he ryde, 
My luve with him doth still abyde : 
In weil or wae, whair-eir he gae, 
Mine hart can neire depart him frae. 
Balow, &c. 



20 



25 



30 



But doe not, doe not, pretty mine, 
To faynings fals thine hart incline ; 
Be loyal to thy luver trew, 
And nevir change her for a new : 
If gude or faire, of hir have care, 
For womens banning's wonderous sair. 35 
Balow, &c. 

Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane, 
Thy winsome smiles maun eise my paine ; 
My babe and I'll together live, 
He'll comfort me when cares doe grieve : 
My babe and I right saft will ly, 41 

And quite forgeit man's cruelty. 

Balow, &c. 

Fareweil, fareweil, thou falsest youth, 
That evir kist a womans mouth ! 45 

I wish all maides be warnd by mee 
Nevir to trust mans curtesy ; 
For if we doe bot chance to bow, • 
They'le use us then they care not how. 
Balow, my babe, ly stil, and sleipe, 50 
It grives me sair to see thee weipe. 



31 



240 



THE MURDER OF THE KING OF SCOTS. 



XIV. 



f Ire Ktarkr of % Jung at Scots. 



The catastrophe of Henry Stewart, Lord 
Darnley, the unfortunate husband of Mary 
Queen of Scots, is the subject of this ballad. 
It is here related in that partial imperfect 
manner, in which such an event would natu- 
rally strike the subjects of another kingdom ; 
of which he was a native. Henry appears 
to have been a vain, capricious, worthless 
young man, of weak understanding, and dis- 
solute morals. But the beauty of his person, 
and the inexperience of his youth, would dis- 
pose mankind to treat him with an indul- 
gence, which the cruelty of his murder would 
afterwards convert into the most tender pity 
and regret : and then imagination would not 
fail to adorn his memory with all those vir- 
tues he ought to have possessed. This will 
account for the extravagant eulogium be- 
stowed upon him in the first stanza, &c. 

Henry Lord Darnley was eldest son of 
the Earl of Lennox, by the Lady Margaret 
Douglas, niece of Henry VIII., and daughter 
of Margaret Queen of Scotland by the Earl 
of Angus, whom that princess married after 
the death of James IV. — Darnley, who had 
been born and educated in England, was but 
in his 21st year when he was murdered, Feb. 
9, 15G7-8. This crime was perpetrated by 
the Earl of Bothwell, not out of respect to 
the memory of Riccio, but in order to pave 
the way for his own marriage with the queen. 

This ballad (printed, with a few correc- 
tions, from the Editor's folio MS.) seems to 
have been written soon after Mary's escape 
into England in 1568, see v. 65. — It will be 
remembered, at v. 5, that this princess was 
Queen Dowager of France, having been first 
married to Francis II., who died Dec. 4, 1560. 

Woe worth, woe worth thee, false Scotlande ! 

For thou hast ever wrought by sleight ; 
The worthyest prince that ever was borne, 

You hanged under a cloud by night. 

The Queene of France a letter wrote, 5 

And sealed itt with harte and ringe ; 

And bade him come Scotland within, 

And shee wold marry and crowne him kinge. 



To be a king is a pleasant thing, 

To bee a prince unto a peere: 10 

But you have heard, and soe have I too, 

A man may well buy gold too deare. 

There was an Italyan in that place, 
Was as well beloved as ever was hee, 

Lord David was his name, 15 

Chamberlaine to the queene was hee. 

If the king had risen forth of his place, 
He wold have sate him downe in the cheare, 

And tho itt beseemed him not so well, 
Altho the kinge had beene present there. 

Some lords in Scotlande waxed wrothe, 21 
And quarrelled with him for the nonce ; 

I shall you tell how it befell, 

Twelve daggers were in him att once. 

When the queene saw her chamberlaine was 
slaine, 25 

For him her faire cheeks shee did weete, 
And made a vowe for a yeare and a day 
The king and shee wold not come in one 
sheete. 

Then some of the lords they waxed wrothe, 
And made their vow all vehementlye ; 30 

For the death of the queenes chamberlaine, 
The king himselfe, how he shall dye. 

With gun-powder they strewed his roome, 
And layd greene rushes in his way : 

For the traitors thought that very night 35 
This worthye king for to betray. 

To bedd tho king he made him bowne ; 

To take his rest was his desire ; 
He was noe sooner cast on sleepe, 

But his chamber was on a biasing fire. 40 

Up he lope, and the window brake, 
And hee had thirtye foote to fall ; 

Lord Bodwell kept a privy watch, 
Underneath his castle wall. 

Ver. 15, sic. MS. 



A SONNET BY QUEEN ELIZABETH. 



241 



Who have wee here ? Lord Bodwell sayd : 
Now answer me, that I may know. 46 

" King Henry the eighth my uncle was ; 
For his sweete sake some~pitty show." 

Who have we here ? Lord Bodwell sayd, 
Now answer me when I doe speake. 50 

" Ah, Lord Bodwell, I know thee well ; 
Some pitty on me I pray thee take." 

He pitty thee as much he sayd, 

And as much favor show to thee, 54 

As thou didst to the queenes ehamberlaine, 

That day thou deemedst him to die.* 



Through halls and towers the king they ledd, 
Through towers and castles that were nye, 

Through an arbor into an orchard, 

There on a peare-tree hanged him hye. 60 

When the governor of Scotland heard m, 
How that the worthye king was slaine ; 

He persued the queen so bitterlye, 

That in Scotland shee dare not remaine. 

But shee is fledd into merry England, 65 
And here her residence hath taine ; 

And through the Queene of Englands grace, 
In England now shee doth remaine. 



XV. 



|l Burnt bg $umt (Ei^ktjr. 



The following lines, if they display no rich 
vein of poetry, are yet so strongly character- 
istic of their great and spirited authoress, 
that the insertion of them will be pardoned. 
They are preserved in Puttenham's " Arte of 
English Poesie :" a book in which are many 
sly addresses to the queen's foible of shining 
as a poetess. The extraordinary manner in 
which these verses are introduced shows 
what kind of homage was exacted from the 
courtly writers of that age, viz. 

"I find," says this antiquated critic, "none 
example in English metre, so well maintain- 
ing this figure [Exargasia, or the Gorgeous, 
Lat. Expolitio] as that dittie of her majesties 
owne making, passing sweete and harmoni- 
eall ; which figure beyng as his very origi- 
nall name purporteth the most bewtifull and 
gorgious of all others, it asketh in reason to 
be reserved for a last complement, and desci- 
phred by a ladies penne, herself beyng the 
most bewtifull, or rather bewtie of queenes.* 
And this was the occasion ; our soveraigne 
lady perceiving how the Scottish queenes re- 
sidence within this realme at so great libertie 
and ease (as were skarce meete for so great 
and dangerous a prysoner) bred secret fac- 
tions among her people, and made many of 

* Pronounced after the northern manner dee. 
t She was at this time near three-score. 



the nobilitie incline to favour her partie : 
some of them desirous of innovation in the 
state : others aspiring to greater fortunes by 
her libertie and life : the queene our sove- 
raigne ladie, to declare that she was nothing 
ignorant of those secret practizes, though she 
had long with great wisdome and pacience 
dissembled it, writeth this dittie most sweete 
and sententious, not hiding from all such 
aspiring minds the danger of their ambition 
and disloyaltie : which afterwards fell out 
most truly by th' exemplary chastisement of 
sundry persons, who in favour of the said 
Scot. Qu. declining from her majestie, sought 
to interrupt the quiet of the realme by many 
evill and undutifull practizes." 

This sonnet seems to have been composed 
in 1569, not long before the Duke of Norfolk, 
the Earls of Pembroke and Arundel, the 
Lord Lumley, Sir Nich. Throcmorton, and 
others, were taken into custody. See Hume, 
Rapin, &c. It was originally written in long 
lines or alexandrines, each of which is here 
divided into two. 

The present edition is improved by some 
readings adopted from a copy printed in a 
collection from the papers of Sir John Har- 
rington, intituled, " Nugae Antiquas," Lond. 
1769, 12mo., where the verses are accompa- 
nied with a very curious letter, in which this 
sonnet is said to be " of her Highness own 



242 



KING OF SCOTS AND ANDREW BROWNE. 



inditing My Lady Willoughby did co- 
vertly get it on her Majesties tablet, and had 
much hazzard in so doing ; for the Queen did 
find out the thief, and chid for her spreading 
evil bruit of her writing such toyes, when 
other matters did so occupy her employment 
at this time — and was fearful of being thought 
too lightly of for so doing." * * * 



The doubt of future foes 

Exiles my present joy; 
And wit me warnes to shun such snares, 

As threaten mine annoy. 

For falshood now doth flow, 5 

And subjects faith doth ebbe : 

Which would not be, if reason rul'd, 
Or wisdome wove the webbe. 

But clowdes of joyes untried 

Do cloake aspiring mindes ; 10 

Which turn to raine of late repent, 

By course of changed windes. 

The toppe of hope supposed 

The roote of ruthe will be ; 
And frutelesse all their graffed guiles, 15 

As shortly all shall see. 



Then dazeld eyes with pride, 
Which great ambition blindes, 

Shal be unseeld by worthy wights, 

Whose foresight falshood finds. 20 

The daughter of debate,* 

That discord ay doth sowe, 
Shal reape no gaine where former rule 

Hath taught stil peace to growe. 

No forreine bannisht wight 25 

Shall ancre in this port ; 
Our realme it brookes no strangers force, 

Let them elsewhere resort. 

Our rusty sworde with rest 

Shall first his edge employ, 30 

To poll the toppes, that seeke such change, 

Or gape for such like joy. 

fit I cannot help subjoining to the above 
sonnet another distich of Elizabeth's pre- 
served by Puttenham (p. 197), " which (says 
he) our soveraigne lady wrote in defiance of 
fortune." 

Never thinke you, Fortune can beare the 

sway, 
Where Vertue's force can cause her to obay. 

The slightest effusion of such a mind de- 
serves attention. 



XVI. 



ling al j&nrts anii gnbixto §r0ta. 



This ballad is a proof of the little inter- 
course that subsisted between the Scots and 
English, before the accession of James I. to 
the crown of England. The tale which is 
here so circumstantially related, does not ap- 
pear to have had the least foundation in his- 
tory, but was probably built upon some con- 
fused hearsay report of the tumults in Scot- 
land during the minority of that prince, and 
of the conspiracies formed by different fac- 
tions to get possession of his person. It 
should seem from ver. 97 to have been writ- 
ten during the regency, or at least before 

Ver. 1, dread, al. ed. V. 9, toyes, al. ed. 



the death, of the Earl of Morton, who was 
condemned and executed June 2, 1581 ; when 
James was in his fifteenth year. 

The original copy (preserved in the archives 
of the Antiquarian ^Society, London) is enti- 
tled, " A new ballad, declaring the great 
treason conspired against the young king of 
Scots, and how one Andrew Browne an Eng- 
lish-man, which was the king's chamber- 
laine, prevented the same. To the tune of 
Milfield, or els to Green-sleeves." At the 
end is subjoined the name of the author, W. 
Elderton. " Imprinted at London for Yarathe 

* She evidently means here the Queen of Scot*. 



KING OF SCOTS AND ANDREW BROWNE. 



243 



James, dwelling in Newgate Market, over 
against Ch. Church," in black-letter folio. 

This Elderton, who had been originally an 
attorney in the sheriff's court of London, and 
afterwards (if we may believe Oldys) a come- 
dian, was a facetious fuddling companion, 
whose tippling and rhymes rendered him fa- 
mous among his contemporaries. He was 
author of many popular songs and ballads ; 
and probably other pieces in this work, be- 
sides the following, are of his composing. 
He is believed to have fallen a victim to his 
bottle before the year 1592. His epitaph 
has been recorded by Camden, and translated 
by Oldys. 

Hie situs est sitiens, atque ebrius Eldertonus, 
Quid dico hie situs est? hie potius sitis est. 

Dead drunk here Elderton doth lie ; 
Dead as he is, he still is dry : 
So of him it may well be said, 
Here he, but not his thirst, is laid. 

See Stow's Lond. [Guild-hall.] — Biogr. Brit. 
[" Drayton," by Oldys, Note B.] Ath. Ox.— 
Camden's Remains. — The Exale-tation of 
Ale, among Beaumont's Poems, 8vo. 1653. 

" Out alas !" what a griefe is this 

That princes subjects cannot be true, 
But still the devill hath some of his, 

Will play their parts whatsoever ensue ; 
Forgetting what a grievous thing 5 

It is to offend the anointed king ! 
Alas for woe, why should it be so, 
This makes a sorrowful heigh ho. 

In Scotland is a bonnie kinge, 

As proper a youth as neede to be, 10 

Well given to every happy thing, 

That can be in a kinge to see : 
Yet that unluckie country still, 
Hath people given to craftie will. 

Alas for woe, &c. 15 

On Whitsun eve it so befell, 
A posset was made to give the king, 

Whereof his ladie nurse hard tell, 
And that it was a poysoned thing : 

She cryed, and called piteouslie ; 20 

Now help, or els the king shall die ! 
Alas for woe, &c. 



One Browne, that was an English man, 
And hard the ladies piteous crye, 

Out with his sword, and bestir'd him than, 
Out of the doores in haste to flie ; 26 

But all the doores were made so fast, 

Out of a window he got at last. 
Alas, for woe, &c. 

He met the bishop coming fast, 30 

Having the posset in his hande : 

The sight of Browne made him aghast, 
Who bad him stoutly staie and stand. 

With him were two that ranne awa, 

For feare that Browne would make a fray. 
Alas, for woe, &c. 36 

Bishop, quoth Browne, what hast thou there? 

Nothing at all, my friend, sayde he ; 
But a posset to make the king good cheere. 

Is it so ? sayd Browne, that will I see, 40 
First I will have thyself begin, 
Before thou go any further in ; 

Be it weale or woe, it shall be so, 
This makes a sorrowful heigh ho. 

The bishop sayde, Browne I doo know, 45 

Thou art a young man poore and bare ; 
Livings on thee I will bestowe : 

Let me go on, take thou no care. 
No, no, quoth Browne, I will not be 
A traitour for all Christiantie : 50 

Happe well or woe, it shall be so, 
Drink now with a sorrowfull, &c. 

The bishop dranke, and by and by 
His belly burst and he fell downe : 

A just rewarde for his traitery. 55 

This was a posset indeed, quoth Brown ! 

He serched the bishop, and found the keyes, 

To come to the kinge when he did please. 
Alas for woe, &c. 

As soon as the king got word of this, 60 
He humbly fell uppon his knee, 

And praysed God that he did misse, 
To tast of that extremity : 

For that he did perceive and know, 

His clergie would betray him so : 65 

Alas for woe, &c. 

Alas, he said, unhappie realme, 
My father, and grandfather slaine : 



Ver. 67, His father was Henry Lord Darnley. His grand- 
father the old Earl of Lenox, regent of Scotland, and father 
of Lord Darnley, was murdered at Stirling, Sept. 5, 1571. 



244 



THE BONNY EARL OF MURRAY. 



My mother banished, extreame ! 

Unhappy fate, and bitter bayne! 70 

And now like treason wrought for me, 
What more unhappie realme can be ! 
Alas for woe, &c. 

The king did call his nurse to his grace. 

And gave her twenty poundes a yeere ; 75 
And trustie Browne too in like case, 

He knighted him with gallant geere : 
And gave him ' lands and livings great, 
For dooing such a manly feat, 

As ho did showe, to the bishop's woe, 
Which made, &c. 81 

When all this treason done and past, 

Tooke not effect of traytery : 
Another treason at the last, 

They sought against his majestie : 85 

How they might make their kinge away, 
By a privie banket on a daye. 
Alas for woe, &c. 



' Another time' to sell the king 
Beyonde the seas they had decreede : 



90 



Three noble Earles heard of this thing, 

And did prevent the same with speede. 
For a letter came, with such a charm e, 
That they should doo their king no harme : 
For further woe, if they did soe, 95 

Would make a sorrowful heigh hoe. 

The Earle Mourton told the Douglas then, 
Take hcede you do not offend the king ; 
But shew yourselves like honest men 

Obediently in every thing ; 100 

For his godmother* will not see 
Her noble child misus'd to be 

With any woe ; for if it be so, 
She will make, &c. 

God graunt all subjects may be true, 105 

In England, Scotland, every where: 
That no such daunger may ensue, 

To put the prince or state in feare : 
That God the highest king may see 
Obedience as it ought to be, 110 

In wealth or woe, God graunt it be so 
To avoide the sorrowful heigh ho. 



XVII. 



f it gjjrag <fax\ at jjtaraj. 



A SCOTTISH SONG. 



In December 1591, Francis Stewart, Earl 
of Bothwell, had made an attempt to seize on 
the person of his sovereign James VI., but 
being disappointed, had retired towards the 
north. The king unadvisedly gave a commi- 
sion to George Gordon, Earl of Huntley, to 
pursue Bothwell and his followers with fire 
and sword. Huntley, under cover of execut- 
ing that commission, took occasion to revenge 
a private quarrel he had against', James 
Stewart, Earl of Murray, a relation of Both- 
well's. In the night of Feb. 7, 1592, he 
beset Murray's house, burnt it to the ground, 
and slew Murray himself ; a young nobleman 
of the most promising virtues, and the very 
darling of the people. See Robertson's His- 
tory. 

The present Lord Murray hath now in his 



possession a picture of his ancestor naked 
and covered with wounds, which had been 
carried about, according to the custom of that 
age, in order to inflame the populace to re- 
venge his death. If this picture did not flat- 
ter, he well deserved the name of the " Bonny 
Earl," for he is there represented as a tall 
and comely personage. It is a tradition in 
the family, that Gordon of Bucky gave him a 
wound in the face: Murray, half expiring, 
said, " you hae spilt a better face than your 
awin." Upon this, Bucky, pointing his dag- 
ger at Huntley's breast, swore, "Yqu shall 
be as deep as I ;" and forced him to pierce 
the poor defenceless body. 
King James, who took no care to punish 



* Queen Elizabeth. 



YOUNG WATERS. 



245 



the murderers, is said by some to have pri- 
vatelycountenanced and abetted them, being 
stimulated by jealousy for some indiscreet 
praises which his queen had too lavishly be- 
stowed on this unfortunate youth. See the 
preface to the next ballad. See also Mr. 
Walpole's " Catalogue of Royal Authors," 
vol. I. p. 42. 

Ye highlands, and ye lawlands, 

Oh ! quhair hae ye been? 
They hae slaine the Earl of Murray, 

And hae laid him on the green. 

Now wae be to thee, Huntley ! 5 

And quhairfore did you sae ! 
I bade you bring him wi' you, 

But forbade you him to slay. 



He was a braw gallant, 

And he rid at the ring ; 10 

And the bonny Earl of Murray, 

Oh ! he might hae been a king. 

He was a braw gallant, 

And he played at the ba' ; 
And the bonny Earl of Murray 15 

Was the flower among them a'. 

He was a braw gallant, 

And he playd at the gluve ; 
And the bonny Earl of Murray, 

Oh ! he was the Queenes luve. 20 

Oh ! lang will his lady 

Luke owre the castle downe,* 

Ere she see the Earl of Murray 
Cum sounding throw the towne. 



XVIII. 

flog WL%ttx& 

A SCOTTISH BALLAD. 



It has been suggested to the Editor, that 
this ballad covertly alludes to the indiscreet 
partiality, which Queen Anne of Denmark is 
said to have shown for the " Bonny Earl of 
Murray ;" and which is supposed to have in- 
fluenced the fate of that unhappy nobleman. 
Let the reader judge for himself. 

The following account of the murder is 
given by a contemporary writer, and a per- 
son of credit, Sir James Balfour, knight, 
Lyon King of Arms, whose MS. of the An- 
nals of Scotland is in the Advocate's Library 
at Edinburgh. 

"The seventh of Febry, this zeire, 1592, 
the Earle of Murray was cruelly murthered 
by the Earle of Huntley at his house in Duni- 
brissel in Fyffe-shyre, and with him Dunbar, 
sherrifle of Murray. It was given out and 
publickly talkt, that the Earle of Huntley 
was only the instrument of perpetrating this 
facte, to satisfie the King's jealousie of Mur- 
ray, quhum the Queene, more rashly than 
wisely, some few days before had commendit 
in the king's hearing, with too many epithets 



of a proper and gallant man. The reasons 
of these surmises proceedit from a proclama- 
tione of the Kings, the 13 of Marche follow- 
ing : inhibiteine the zoung Earle of Murray 
to persue the Earle of Huntley, for his father's 
slaughter, in respect he being wardeit [im- 
prisoned] in the castell of Blacknesse for the 
same murther, was willing to abide a tryall, 
averring that he had done nothing but by 
the King's majesties commissione ; and was 
neither airt nor part in the murther."f 

The following ballad is here given from a 
copy printed not long since at Glasgow, in 
one sheet 8vo. The world was indebted for 
its publication to the Lady Jean Hume, sister 
to the Earl of Hume, who died at Gibraltar. 

About Zule, quhen the wind blew cule, 

And the round tables began, 
A' ! there is cum to our kings court 

Mony a well-favoured man. 



* Castle downe here has been thought to mean the Castle 
of Downe, a seat belonging to the family of Murray. 
+ This extract is copied from the Critical Review. 



246 



MARY AMBREE. 



The queen luikt owre the castle wa, 5 

Beheld baith dale and down, 
And then she saw zoung Waters 

Cum riding to the town. 

His footmen they did rin before, 

His horsemen rade behind, 10 

Ane mantel of the burning gowd 
Did keip him frae the wind. 

Gowden graith'd his horse before 

And siller shod behind, 
The horse zong Waters rade upon 15 

Was fleeter than the wind. 

But than spake a wylie lord, 

Unto the queene said he, 
tell me qhua's the fairest face 

Rides in the company. 20 

I've sene lord, and I've sene laird, 

And knights of high degree ; 
Bot a fairer face than zoung Waters 

Mine eyne did never see. 

Out then spack the jealous king, 25 

(And an angry man was he) 
0, if he had been twice as fair, 

Zou micht have excepted me. 

Zou're neither laird nor lord, she says, 
Bot the king that wears the crown ; 30 



Ther is not a knight in fair Scotland 
Bot to thee maun bow down. 

For a' that she could do or say, 

Appeasd he wad nae bee ; 
Bot for the words which she had said 35 

Zoung Waters he maun dee. 

They hae taen zoung Waters, and 

Put fetters to his feet ; 
They hae taen zoung Waters, and 

Thrown him in dungeon deep. • 40 

Aft I have ridden thro' Stirling town 
In the wind both and the weit ; 

Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town 
Wi fetters at my feet 

Aft have I ridden thro' Stirling town 45 
In the wind both and the rain ; 

Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town 
Neir to return again. 

They hae taen to the heiding-hill* 

His zoung son in his craddle, 50 

And they hae taen to the heiding-hill 
His horse both and his saddle. 

They hae taen to the heiding-hill 

His lady fair to see. 
And for the words the queen had spoke 55 

Zoung Waters he did dee. 



XIX. 



itarn ^mbrn. 



In the year 1584, the Spaniards, under the 
command of Alexander Farnese, prince of 
Parma, began to gain great advantages in 
Flanders and Brabant, by recovering many 
strongholds and cities from the Hollanders, 
as Ghent (called then by the English Gaunt), 
Antwerp, Mechlin, &c. See Stow's Annals, 
p. 711. Some attempt made with the assist- 
ance of English volunteers to retrieve the 
former of those places probably gave occasion 
to this ballad. I can find no mention of our 
heroine in history, but the following rhymes 
rendered her famous among our poets. Ben 
Jonson often mentions her, and calls any re- 
markable virago by her name. See his Epi- 



csene, first acted in 1609, Act 4, sc. 2. His 
Tale of a Tub, Act 4, sc. 4. And his masque 
entitled the Fortunate Isles, 1626, where he 
quotes the very words of the ballad, 

Mart Ambree, 

(Who marched so free 
To the siege of Gaunt, 
And death could not daunt, 
As the ballad doth vaunt) 
Were a braver wight, &c. 

She is also mentioned in Fletcher's Scornful 
Lady, Act 5, siibfinem. 



* Heiding hill ; i. e. heading [beheading hill.] The place 
of execution was anciently an artificial hillock. 



MARY AMBREE. 



247 



« — "My large gentlewoman, my 'Mary 
Ambree,' had I but seen into you, you should 
have had another bedfellow." 

It is likewise evident that she is the virago 
intended by Butler in Hudibras (P. 1, c. 3, v. 
365), by her being coupled with Joan d'Arc, 
the celebrated Pucelle d' Orleans : 

A bold virago stout and tall 

As Joan of France, or English Mall. 

This ballad is printed from a black-letter 
copy in the Pepys Collection, improved from 
the Editor's folio MS., and by conjecture. 
The full title is, " The valourous acts per- 
formed at Gaunt by the brave bonnie lass 
Mary Ambree, who in revenge of her lovers 
death did play her part most gallantly. The 
time is, The blind beggar, Sec" 

When captaines couragious, whom death 

cold not daunte, 
Did march to the siege of the citty of Gaunt, 
They mustred their souldiers by two and by 

three, 
And the formost in battle was Mary Ambree. 

When brave Sir John Major* was slaine in 
her sight, 5 

Who was her true lover, her joy, and delight, 
Because he was slaine most treacherouslle, 
Then vowd to revenge him Mary Ambree. 

She clothed herselfe from the top to the toe 

In buffe of the bravest, most seemelye to 
showe : 10 

A faire shirt of malef then slipped on shee ; 

Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Am- 
bree ? 

A helmett of proofe shee strait did provide, 

A stronge arminge sword shee girt by her 
side, 

On her hand a goodly faire gauntlett put 
shee ; 15 

Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Am- 
bree ? 



* So MS. Serjeant Major, in P. C. 

t A peculiar kind of armour, composed of small rings of 
iron, and worn under the clothes. It is mentioned hy 
Spencer, who speaks of the Irish Gallowglass or Foot- 
soldier as " armed in a long Shirt of Mayl." (View of the 
State of Ireland.) 

32 



Then tooke shee her sworde and her targett 
in hand ; 

Bidding all such, as wold, bee of her band ; 

To wayte on her person came thousand and 
three : 

Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Am- 
bree? 20 

My soldiers, she saith, soe valliant and bold, 
Nowe followe your captaine, whom you doe 

beholde ; 
Still formost in battell myselfe will I bee : 
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Am- 
bree? 

Then cryed out her souldiers and loude they 
did say, 25 

Soe well thou becomest this gallant array, 
Thy harte and thy weapons so well do agree, 
There was none ever like Mary Ambree. 

Shee cheared her souldiers, that foughten for 
life, 

With ancyent and standard, with drum and 
with fife, 31 

With brave clanging trumpetts, that sounded 
so free ; 

Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Am- 
bree? 

Before I will see the worst of you all 
To come into danger of death, or of thrall, 
This hand and this life I will venture so free: 
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Am- 
bree? 36 

Shee ledd upp her souldiers in battaile array, 
Gainst three times theyr number by breake 

of the daye ; 
Seven howers in skirmish continued shee : 
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Am- 
bree? 40 

She filled the skyes with the smoke of her 
shott, 

And her enemyes bodyes with bullets so 
hott; 

For one of her owne men a score killed shee: 

Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Am- 
bree ? 

And when her false gunner, to spoyle her in- 
tent, 45 
Away all her pellets and powder had sent, 



248 



MARY AMBREE. 



Straight with her keen weapon shec slasht 

him in three: 
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ain- 

bree ? 

Being falselye betrayed for lucre of hyre, 
At length she was forced to make a retyre ; 
Then her souldiers into a strong castle drew 

shec : 51 

Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ara- 

bree ? 

Her foes they besett her on everye side, 
As thinking close siege shee cold never abide; 
To beate down the walles they all did decree : 
But stoutlye deffyd them brave Mary Ambree. 

Then tooke shee her sword and her targett in 
hand, 57 

And mounting the walls all undaunted did 
stand, 

There daring their captaines to match any 
three : 

what a brave captaine was Mary Ambree ! 

Now saye, English captaine, what woldest 
thou give 61 

To ransome thy selfe, which else must not 
live? 

Come yield thy selfe quicklye, or slaine thou 
must bee, 

Then smiled sweetlye brave Mary Ambree. 

Ye captaines couragious, of valour so bold, 
Whom thinke you before you now you doe 

behold ? 66 

A knight, sir, of England, and captaine soe 

free, 
Who shortleye with us a prisoner must bee. 



No, captaine of England; behold in your 

sight 
Two brests in my bosome, and therfore no 

knight*: 70 

Noe knight, sirs, of England, nor captaine 

you see, 
But a poor simple lass called Mary Ambree. 

But art thou a woman, as thou dost declare, 

Whose valor hath proved so undaunted in 
warre ? 

If England doth yield such brave lasses as 
thee, 75 

Full well may they conquer, faire Mary Am- 
bree. 

The prince of Great Parma heard of her re- 

nowne 
Who long had advanced for England's faire 

crowne ; 
Hee wooed her, and sued her his mistress to 

bee, 
And offerd rich presents to Mary Ambree. 80 

But this virtuous mayden despised them all, 
He nere sell my honour for purple nor pall : 
A mayden of England, sir, never will bee 
The whore of a monarcke, quoth Mary Am- 
bree. 

Then to her owne country shee backe did re- 
turne, 85 

Still holding the foes of faire England in 
scorne ; 

Therfore English captaines of every degree 

Sing forth the brave valours of Mary Am- 
bree. 



BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBEY. 



249 



XX. 



grab* f 0rft HBIta#qK. 



Peregrine Bertie, Lord Willoughby of 
Eresby, had, in the year 1586, distinguished 
himself at the siege of Zutphen, in the Low 
Countries. He was the year after, made 
general of the English forces in the United 
Provinces, in room of the Earl of Leicester, 
who was recalled. This gave him an oppor- 
tunity of signalizing his courage and military 
skill in several actions against the Spaniards. 
One of these, greatly exaggerated by popular 
report, is probably the subject of this old bal- 
lad, which, on account of its nattering en- 
comiums on English valour, hath always been 
a favourite with the people. 

" My Lord Willoughbie (says a contempo- 
rary writer) was one of the queenes best 
swordsmen : .... he was a great master 
of the art military .... I have heard it 
spoken, that had he not slighted the court, 
but applied himselfe to the queene, he might 
have enjoyed a plentifull portion of her grace; 
and it was his saying, and it did him no good, 
that he was none of the Reptilia ; intimating, 
that he could not creepe on the ground, and 
that the court was not his element ; for, in- 
deed, as he was a great souldier, so he was 
of suitable magnanimitie, and could not 
brooke the obsequiousnesse and assiduitie of 
the court." — (Naunton.) 

Lord Willoughbie died in 1601.— Both 
Norris and Turner were famous among the 
military men of that age. 

The subject of this ballad (which is print- 
ed from an old black-letter copy, with some 
conjectural emendations) may possibly re- 
ceive illustration from what Chapman says 
in the dedication to his version of Homer's 
Frogs and Mice, concerning the brave and 
memorable retreat of Sir John Norris, with 
only 1000 men, through the whole Spanish 
army, under the Duke of Parma, for three 
miles together. 



The fifteenth day of July, 

With glistering spear and shield, 
A famous fight in Flanders 

Was fourfiten in the field : 



The most couragious officers 5 

Were English captains three ; 

But the bravest man in battel 
Was brave Lord Willoughbey. 

The next was Captain Norris, 

A valiant man was hee: 10 

The other Captain Turner, 

From field would never flee. 
With fifteen hundred fighting men, 

Alas ! there were no more, 
They fought with fourteen thousand then, 

Upon the bloody shore. 16 

Stand to it noble pikemen, 

And look you round about : 
And shoot you right you bow-men, 

And we will keep them out : 20 

You musquet and cahver men, 

Do you prove true to me, 
Fie be the formost man in fight, 

Says brave Lord Willoughbey. 

And then the bloody enemy 25 

They fiercely did assail, 
And fought it out most furiously, 

Not doubting to prevail : 
The wounded men on both sides fell 

Most pitious for to see, 30 

Yet nothing could the courage quell 

Of brave Lord Willoughbey. 

For seven hours, to all men's view, 

This fight endured sore, 
Until our men so feeble grew 35 

That they could fight no more ; 
And then upon dead horses, 

Full savourly they eat, 
And drank the puddle water, 

They could no better get. 40 

When they had fed so freely, 

They kneeled on the ground, 
And praised God devoutly 

For the favour they had found ; 
And beating up their colours, 45 

The fight they did renew, 
And turning tow'rds the Spaniard, 

A thousand more they slew. 



250 



VICTORIOUS MEN OF EARTH. 



The sharp steel-pointed arrows, 

And ballets thick did fly; 
Then did our valiant soldiers 

Charge on most furiously; 
Which made the Spaniards waver, 

They thought it best to Bee, 
They i'ear'd the stout behaviour 

Of brave Lord Willoughbey. 



50 



55 



Then quoth the Spanish general, 

Come let us march away, 
I fear we shall be Bpoiled all 

If here vre longer stay : 60 

For yonder OOmes Lord Willoughbey 

With courage tierce and fell, 
lie will not give one inch of way 

For all the devils in hell. 



And then the fearful enemy 
Was quickly put to Bight, 
Our men persued oouragiously, 

And caught their forces quite : 
Bnt at last they gave a shout. 

Which eoohoed through the sky, 
God, and St. George for England ! 

The conquerors did cry. 



65 



This news was brought to England 

With all the speed might be, 
And soon our gracious queen was told 75 

Of this same victory. 

this is brave Lord Willoughbey. 

Mj love that ever won. 
Of all bhe lords i^i' honour 

'Tis he great deeds hath done. 80 



To the souldiers that were maimed, 
Ami wounded in the fray. 

The queen allowed a pension 

Of fifteen pence a day ; 

And from all costs and charges 
She quit and set them free: 

And this she did all for the sake 
Of brave Lord Willoughbey. 



Then courage, noble Englishmen, 

And never be dismaid ; 
If that we be but one to ten, 

We will not be afraid 
To fight with foraign enemies. 

And set our nation free. 
And thus 1 end the bloody bout 

Of brave Lord Willoughbey. 



85 



90 



95 



XXI. 



Victorious ?tkn of earth. 



Tnis little moral sonnet hatli such a pointed 
application to the heroes of the foregoing and 
following ballads, that I cannot help placing 
it here, though the date of its composition is 
of a much later period. It is extracted from 
"Cupid and Death, a masque by J. S. [James 
Shirley] presented Mar. 26, 1053. London, 
printed 1053," 4to. 

iRIOUS men of earth, no more 
Proclaim how wide your empires are: 
Though you binde in every shore, 
And your triumphs reach as far 



As night or day ; 5 

Yet you proud monarchs must obey, 
And mingle with forgotten ashes, when 
Death calls yee to the croud of common men. 



Devouring famine, plague, and war, 
Each able to undo mankind. 

Death's Bervile emissaries are : 
Nor to these alone eonfm'd. 

He hath at will 
More quaint and subtle wayes to kill : 

A smile or kiss as he will use the art. 



10 



15 



Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart. 



THE WINNING OF CALES. 



251 



XXII. 



%ty Mnmiwf Jirf CaUs. 



Tiie subject of this ballad is the taking of 
the city of Cadiz, (called by our sailors cor- 
ruptly Cales) on June 21, 1596, in a descent 
made on the coast of Spain, under the com- 
mand of the Lord Howard admiral, and the 
Earl of Essex general. 

The valour of Essex was not more distin- 
guished on this occasion than his generosity: 
the town was carried sword in hand, but he 
stopped the slaughter as soon as possible, and 
treated his prisoners with the greatest huma- 
nity, and even affability and kindness. The 
English made a rich plunder in the city, but 
missed of a much richer, by the resolution 
which tho Duke of Medina the Spanish ad- 
miral took, of setting fire to the ships, in 
order to prevent their falling into the hands 
of the enemy. It was computed, that the 
loss whieh the Spanish sustained from this 
enterprise, amounted to twenty millions of 
ducats. See Hume's History. 

The Earl of Essex knighted on this occa- 
sion not fewer than sixty persons, which 
gave rise to the following sarcasm : 

A gentleman of "Wales, a knight of Cales, 
And a laird of the North country ; 

But a yeoman of Kent with his yearly rent 
Will buy them out all three. 

The ballad is printed with some corrections, 
from the Editor's folio MS., and seems to 
have been composed by some person who was 
concerned in the expedition. Most of the 
circumstances related in it will be found sup- 
ported by history. 

Long the proud Spaniards had vaunted to 
conquer us, 
Threatning our country with fyer and 
sword ; 
Often preparing their navy most sumptuous 
With as great plenty as Spain could afford. 
Dub a dub, dub a dub, thus strike their 
drums : 5 

Tantara, tantara, the Englishman comes. 



To the seas prescntlye went our lord admiral, 
With knights courageous and captains full 
good; 
The brave Earl of Essex, a prosperous gene- 
ral, 
With him prepared to pass the salt flood. 
Dub a dub, &c. 11 

At Plymouth speedilye, took they ship va- 
liantlye, 
Braver ships never were seen under sayle, 
With their fair colours spread, and streamers 
ore their head, 
Now bragging Spaniards, take heed of 
your tayle. 15 

Dub a dub, &c. 

Unto Cales cunninglye, came we most speedi- 
lye, 
Where the kinges navy securelye did ryde ; 
Being upon their backs, piercing their butts 
of sacks, 
Ere any Spaniards our coming descry de. 
Dub a dub, &c. 21 

Great was the crying, the running and ryd- 
™g, 
Which at that season was made in that 
place ; 
The beacons were fyred, as need then re- 
quired ; 
To hyde their great treasure they had little 
space. 25 

Dub a dub, &c. 

There you might see their ships, how they 
were fyred fast, 
And how their men drowned themselves in 
the sea ; 
There might you hear them cry, wayle and 
weep piteously, 
When they saw no shift to scape thence 
away. 30 

Dub a dub, &c. 



252 



THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE. 



Tho great St. Phillip, the pryde of the Spa- 
niards, 
Was burnt to the bottom, and sunk in the 
sea; 
But the St. Andrew, and eke the St. Matthew, 
We took in fight nianfullye and brought 
away. 35 

Dub a dub, &c. 

The Earl of Essex most valiant and hardye, 
With horsemen and footmen marched up 
to the town ; 
The Spanyards, which saw them, were greatly 
alarmed, 
Did fly for their saveguard, and durst not 
come down. 40 

Dub a dub, &c. 

Now, quoth the noble Earl, courage my sol- 
diers all ; 
Fight and be valiant, the spoil you shall 
have; 
And be well rewarded all from the great to 
the small ; 
But looke that the women and children 
you save. 45 

Dub a dub, &c. 

The Spaniards at that sight, thinking it vain 
to fight, 
Hung upp flags of truce and yielded the 
towne ; 
Wee marched in presentlye, decking the 
walls on hye, 
With English colours which purchased re- 
nown e. 50 
Dub a dub, &c. 



Entering the houses then, of the most richest 
men, 
For gold and treasure we searched eche 
day ; 
In some places we did find, pyes baking left 
behind, 
Meate at fire rosting, and folkcs run away. 
Dub a dub, &c. 56 

Full of rich merchandize, every shop catched 
our eyes, 
Damasks and sattens and velvets full fayre ; 
Which soldiers measur'd out by the length 
of their swords ; 
Of all commodities eche had a share. 60 
Dub a dub, &c. 

Thus Cales was taken, and our brave general 
March'd to the market-place, where he did 
stand : 
There many prisoners fell to our several 
shares, 
Many crav'd mercye, and mercye they 
fannd. 65 

Dub a dub, &c. 

When our brave General saw they delayed 
all, 
And wold not ransome their towne as they 
said, 
With their fair wanscots, their presses and 
bedsteds, 69 

Their joint-stools and tables a fire we made ; 
And when the town burned all in flame, 
With tara, tantara, away wee all came. 



XXIII. 



Ik Sgsnbij fititfs 3te. 



This beautiful old ballad most probably 
took its rise from one ofvthese descents made 
on the Spanish coasts in the time of Queen 
Elizabeth; and in all likelihood from that 
which is celebrated in the foregoing ballad. 

It was a tradition in the West of England, 
that the person admired by the Spanish lady 
was a gentleman of the Popham family, and 
that her picture, with the pearl necklace 



mentioned in the ballad, was not many years 
ago preserved at Littlecot, near Hungerford, 
Wilts, the seat of that respectable family. 

Another tradition hath pointed out Sir Ri- 
chard Levison, of Trentham, in Staffordshire, 
as the subject of this ballad ; who married. 
Margaret, daughter of Charles Earl of Not- 
tingham ; and was eminently distinguished 
as a naval officer and commander in all the 



THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE. 



253 



expeditions against the Spaniards in the lat- 
ter end of Queen Elizabeth's reign, particu- 
larly in that to Cadiz in 1596, when he was 
aged 27. He died in 1605, and has a monu- 
ment, with his effigy in brass, in Wolverhamp- 
ton church. 

It is printed from an ancient black-letter 
copy, corrected in part by the Editor's folio 
MS. 

"Will you hear a Spanish lady, 
How shee wooed an English man ? 

Garments gay as rich as may be 

Decked with jewels she had on. 4 

Of a comely countenance and grace was she, 

And by birth and parentage of high degree. 

As his prisoner there he kept her, 

In his hands her life did lye ; 
Cupid's bands did tye them faster 

By the liking of an eye. 10 

In his courteous company was all her joy, 
To favour him in any thing she was not coy. 

But at last there came commandment 

For to set the ladies free, 
"With their jewels still adorned, t 15 

None to do them injury. 
Then said this lady mild, Full woe is me ; 
let me still sustain this kind captivity ! 

Gallant captain, shew some pity 

To a ladye in distresse ; 20 

Leave me not within this city, 

For to dye in heavinesse. 
Thou hast set this present day my body free, 
But my heart in prison still remains with 
thee. 

" How should'st thou, fair lady, love me, 25 

"Whom thou knowst thy country's foe ? 
Thy fair wordes make me suspect thee : 

Serpents lie where flowers grow." 
All the harm I wishe to thee, most courteous 

knight, 
God grant the same upon my head may fully 
light. 30 

Blessed be the time and season, 
That you came on Spanish ground ; 

If our foes you may be termed, 
Gentle foes we have you found : 



"With our city, you have won our hearts eche 
one, 35 

Then to your country bear away, that is your 
owne. 

" Rest you still, most gallant lady ; 

Rest you still, and weep no more ; 
Of fair lovers there is plenty, 

Spain doth yield a wonderous store." 40 
Spaniards fraught with jealousy we often find, 
But Englishmen through all the world are 
counted kind. 

Leave me not unto a Spaniard, 

You alone enjoy my heart ; 
I am lovely, young, and tender, 45 

Love is likewise my desert : 
Still to serve thee day and night my mind i3 

prest ; 
The wife of every Englishman is counted blest. 

" It wold be a shame, fair lady, 

For to bear a woman hence ; 50 

English soldiers never carry 

Any such without offence." 
I'll quickly change myself, if it be so, 
And like a page He follow thee, where'er 
thou go. 

" I have neither gold nor silver 55 

To maintain thee in this case, 
And to travel is great charges, 

As you know in every place." 
My chains and jewels every one shal be thy 

own, 
And eke five hundred* pounds in gold that 
lies unknown. 60 

" On the seas are many dangers, 

Many storms do there arise, 
Which wil be to ladies dreadful, 

And force tears from watery eyes." 
Well in troth I shall endure extremity, 65 
For I could find in heart to lose my life for 
thee. 

" Courteous ladye, leave this fancy, 
Here comes all that breeds this strife ; 

I in England have already 

A sweet woman to my wife : 70 

I will not falsify my vow for gold nor gain, 

Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in 
Spain." 



Ver. 65, Well in worth, MS. 
* So the MS.— 10,000?., P. C. 



254 



ARGENTILE AND CURAN. 



how happy is that woman 

That enjoys so true a friend ! 
Many happy days God send her ; 75 

Of my suit I make an end : 
On my knees I pardon crave for my offence, 
Which did from love and true affection first 
commence. 

Commend me to thy lovely lady, 

Bear to her this chain of gold ; 80 

And these bracelets for a token ; 

Grieving that I was so bold : 
All my jewels in like sort take thou with thee, 
For they are fitting for thy wife, but not for 



I will spend my days in prayer, 85 

Love and all her laws defye ; 
In a nunnery will I shroud mee 

Far from any companye : 
But ere my prayers have an end, be sure of 

this, 
To pray for thee and for thy love I will not 
miss. 90 

Thus farewell most gallant. captain I 
Farewell to my heart's content ! 

Count not Spanish ladies wanton, 

Though to thee my love was bent : 94 

Joy and true prosperity goe still with thee ! 

" The like fall ever to thy share, most fair 
ladle." 



XXIV. 



gUpntih an& €uxn 



— Is extracted from an ancient historical 
poem in XIII. Books, entitled " Albion's Eng- 
land, by William Warner:" "An author 
(says a former Editor) only unhappy in the 
choice of his subject, and measure of his 
verse. His poem is an epitome of the Bri- 
tish history, and written with great learning, 
sense, and spirit ; in some places fine to an 
extraordinary degree, as I think will emi- 
nently appear in the ensuing episode [of Ar- 
gentile and Curan,]— a tale full of beautiful 
incidents in the romantic taste, extremely 
affecting, rich in ornament, wonderfully va- 
rious in style ; and in short, one of the most 
beautiful pastorals I ever met with." [Muses 
library, 1738, 8vo.] To his merit nothing 
can be objected, unless perhaps an affected 
quaintness in some of his expressions, and 
an indelicacy in some of his pastoral images. 

Warner is said, by A. Wood,* to have been 
a Warwickshire man, and to have been edu- 
cated in Oxford, at Magdalene-hall : as also 
in the latter part of his life to have been re- 
tained in the service of Henry Cary Lord 
Hunsdon, to whom he dedicates his poem. 
However that may have been, new light is 
thrown upon his history, and the time and 
manner of his death are now ascertained, by 
the following extract from the parish register 

* Athen. Oxon. 



book of Amwell, in Hertfordshire ; which 
was obligingly communicated to the editor 
by Mr. Hoole, the very ingenious translator 
of Tasso, &c. 

[1608-1609.] " Master William Warner, 
a man of good yeares and of honest reputation ; 
by his profession an Atturnye of the Common 
Pleas ; author of Albions England, diynge 
suddenly in the night in his bedde, without 
any former complaynt or sicknesse, on thurs- 
day night beeinge the 9 th daye of March ; 
was buried the satturday following, and lyeth 
in the church at the corner under the stone 
of Walter Ffader." Signed Tho. Hassall Vi- 
carius. 

Though now Warner is so seldom men- 
tioned, his contemporaries ranked him on a 
level with Spenser, and called them the Ho- 
mer and Virgil of their age.* But Warner 
rather resembled Ovid, whose Metamorphosis 
he seems to have taken for his model, having de- 
duced a perpetual poem from the deluge down 
to the era of Elizabeth, full of lively digres- 
sion ? and entertaining episodes. And though 
he is sometimes harsh, affected, and obscure, he 
often displays a most charming and pathetic 
simplicity : as where he describes Eleanor's 
harsh treatment of Rosamond : 



Ver. 86, So the folio MS. Other editions read his laws. 
* Athen. Oxon 



ARGENTILE AND CURAN. 



255 



With that she dasht her on the lippes 

So dyed double red : 
Hard was the heart that gave the blow, 

Soft were those lippes that bled. 

The edition of " Albion's England" here 
followed was printed in 4to., 1602 ; said in 
the title page to have been " first penned and 
published by William Warner, and now re- 
vised and newly enlarged by the same au- 
thor." The story of " Argentile and Curan" 
is, I believe, the poet's own invention ; it is 
not mentioned in any of our chronicles. It 
was, however, so much admired, that not 
many years after he published it, came out a 
larger poem on the same subject in stanzas 
of six lines, entitled, " The most pleasant 
and delightful historie of Curan a prince of 
Danske, and the fayre princesse Argentile, 
daughter and heyre to Adelbright, sometime 
King of Northumberland, &c, by William 
Webster, London, 1617," in eight sheets 4to. 
An indifferent paraphrase of the following 
poem. — This episode of Warner's has also 
been altered into the common Ballad, "of the 
two young Princes on Salisbury Plain," which 
is chiefly composed of Warner's lines, with a 
few contractions and interpolations, but all 
greatly for the worse. See the collection of 
Historical Ballads, 1727, 3 vols., 12mo. 

Though here subdivided into stanzas, War- 
ner's metre is the old-fashioned alexandrine 
of fourteen syllables. The reader therefore 
must not expect to find the close of the stan- 
zas consulted in the pauses. 

The Bruton's ' being' departed hence 
Seaven kingdoms here begonne, 

Where diversly in divers broyles 
The Saxons lost and wonne. 

King Edel and King Adelbright 5 

In Diria jointly reigne ; 
In loyal concorde during life 

These kingly friends remaine. 

When Adelbright should leave his life, 
To Edel thus he sayes ; 10 

By those same bonds of happie love, 
That held us friends alwaies ; 

By our by-parted crowne, of which 

The moyetie is mine ; 
By God, to whom my soule must passe, 15 

And so in time may thine ; 



I pray thee, nay I cdnjure thee, 

To nourish, as thine owne, 
Thy niece, my daughter Argentile, 

Till she to age be growne ; 20 

And then, as thou receivest it, 

Resigne to her my throne. 

A promise had for his bequest, 

The testator he dies ; 
But all that Edel undertooke, 25 

He afterwards denies. 

Yet well he ' fosters for' a time 
The damsell that was growne 

The fairest lady under heaven ; 

Whose beautie being knowne, 30 

A many princes seeke her love ; 

But none might her obtaine ; 
For grippell Edel to himselfe 

Her kingdome sought to gaine ; 
And for that cause from sight of such 35 

He did his ward restraine. 

By chance one Curan, sonne unto 

A prince in Danske, did see 
The maid, with whom he fell in love, 

As much as man might bee. 40 

Unhappie youth, what should he doe? 

His saint was kept in mewe ; 
Nor he, nor any noble-man 

Admitted to her vewe. 

One while in melancholy fits 45 

He pines himselfe awaye : 
Anon he thought by force of arms 

To win her if he maye : 

And still against the kings restraint 
Did secretly invay. 50 

At length the high controller Love, 
Whom none may disobay, 

Imbased him from lordlines 

Into a kitchen drudge, 
That so at least of life or death 55 

She might become his judge. 

Accesse so had to see and speake, 

He did his love bewray, 
And tells his birth : her answer was, 

She husbandles would stay. 60 



25G 



ARGENTILE AND CURAN. 



Meane while the king did beate his braines, 

His booty to atchieve, 
Nor caring what became of her, 

So he by her might thrive ; 
At last his resolution was 65 

Some pessant should her wive. 

And (which was working to his wish) 

He did observe with joye 
How Curan, whom he thought a drudge, 

Scapt many an amorous toye.* 70 

The king, perceiving such his vein, 

Promotes his vassal still, 
Lest that the basenesse of the man 

Should lett, perhaps, his will. 

Assured therefore of his love, 75 

But not suspecting who 
The lover was, the king himselfe 

In his behalf did woe. 

The lady resolute from love, 

Unkindly takes that he 80 

Should barre the noble, and unto 

So base a match agree : 

And therefore shifting out of doores, 

Departed thence by stealth ; 
Preferring povertie before 85 

A dangerous life in wealth. 

When Curan heard of her escape, 

The anguish in his hart 
Was more than much, and after her 

From court he did depart ; 90 

Forgetfull of himselfe, his birth, 

His country, friends, and all, 
And only minding (whom he mist) 

The foundresse of his thrall. 



95 



Nor meanes he after to frequent 

Or court, or stately townes, 
But solitarily to live 

Amongst the country grownes. 

A brace of years he lived thus, 

Well pleased so to live, 100 

And shepherddike to feed a flocke 

Himselfe did wholly give. 

* The construction is, " How that many an amorous toy, 
or foolery of love, 'scaped Curan ;" i. e. escaped from him, 
being off bis guard. 



So wasting, love, by worke, and want, 
Grew almost to the waine: 

But then began a second love, 105 

The worser of the twaine. 

A country wench, a neatherds maid, 
Where Curan kept his shcepe, 

Did feed her drove : and now on her 
Was all the shepherds keepe. 110 

He borrowed on the working daies 

His holy russets oft, 
And of the bacon's fat, to make 

His startops blacke and soft. 

And least his tarbox should offend, 115 

He left it at the folde : 
Sweete growte, or wig, his bottle had, 

As much as it might holde. 

A sheeve of bread as browne as nut 
And cheese as white as snow, 120 

And wildings, or the seasons fruit 
He did in scrip bestow. 

And whilst his py-bald curre did sleepe 

And sheep-hooke lay him by, 
On hollow quilles of oten straw 125 

He piped melody. 

But when he spyed her his saint, 

He wip'd his greasie shooes, 
And clear'd the drivell from his beard, 

And thus the shepheard wooes. 130 

"I have, sweet wench, a peece of cheese, 

As good as tooth may chawe, 
And bread and wildings souling well, 

And therewithall did drawe. 

His lardrie) and in 'yeaning' see 135 

" Yon crumpling ewe, quoth he, 

Did twinne this fall, and twin shouldst thou, 
If I might tup with thee. 



" Thou art too elvish, faith thou art, 

Too elvish and too coy: 
Am I, I pray thee, beggarly, 

That such a flocke enjoy? 



140 



" I wis I am not : yet that thou 

Doest hold me in disdaine 
Is brimme abroad, and made a gybe 145 

To all that keepe this plaine. 



Ver. 112, i. e. holy-day Russets. V. 135, Eating, P. CC. 



ARGENTILE AND CURAN. 



257 



" There be as quaiut (at least that thinke 
Themselves as quaint) that crave 

The match, that thou, I wot not why, 
Maist, but mislik'st to have. 150 

" How wouldst thou match ? (for well I wot, 

" Thou art a female) I 
Her know not here that willingly 

"With maiden-head would die. 

" The plowmans labour hath no end, 155 

And he a churle will prove : 
The craftsman hath more worke in hand 

Then fitteth unto love : 

" The merchant, traffiquing abroad, 

Suspects his wife at home : 160 

A youth will play the wanton ; and 
An old man prove a mome. 

" Then chuse a shepheard : with the sun 

He doth his flocke unfold, 
And all the day on hill or plaine 165 

He merrie chat can hold ; 

" And with the sun doth folde againe ; 

Then jogging home betime, 
He turnes a crab, or turnes a round, 

Or sings some merry ryme. 170 

" Nor lacks he gleefull tales, whilst round 
The nut-brown bowl doth trot ; 

And sitteth singing care away, 
Till he to bed be got: 

" Theare sleepes he soundly all the night, 
Forgetting morrow-cares : 176 

Nor feares he blasting of his come, 
Nor uttering of his wares ; 

" Or stormes by seas, or stirres on land, 
Or cracke of credit lost : 180 

Not spending franklier than his flocke 
Shall still defray the cost. 

" Well wot I, sooth they say, that say 

More quiet nights and daies 
The shepheard sleeps and wakes, than he 

Whose cattel he doth graize. 186 



Ver. 153, Her know I not her that, 1602. V. 169, i. e. 
roasts a crab, or apple. V. 171, to tell, whilst round the 
bole doth trot. Ed. 1597. 



" Beleeve me, lasse, a king is but 

A man, and so am I ; 
Content is worth a monarchic 

And mischiefs hit the hie ; 190 

" As late it did a king and his 

Not dwelling far from hence, 
Who left a daughter, save thyselfe, 

For fair a matchless wench." 

Here did he pause, as if his tongue 195 

Had done his heart offence. 

The neatresse, longing for the rest, 

Did egge him on to tell 
How faire she was, and who she was. 

She bore, quoth he, the bell 200 

" For beautie : though I clownish am, 

I know what beautie is ; 
Or did I not, at seeing thee, 

I senceles were to mis. 
***** 

" Her stature comely, tall ; her gate 205 

Well graced ; and her wit 
To marvell at, not meddle with, 

As matchless I omit. 

" A globe-like head, a gold-like haire, 
A forehead smooth, and hie, 210 

An even nose ; on either side 
Did shine a grayish eie: 

" Two rosie cheeks, round ruddy lips, 

White just-set teeth within ; 
A mouth in meane ; and underneathe 215 

A round and dimpled chin. 

" Her snowie necke, with blewish veines, 

Stood bolt upright upon 
Her portly shoulders: beating balles 

Her veined breasts, anon 220 

" Adde more to beautie. Wand-like was 

Her middle falling still, 
And rising whereas women rise :* * * 

— Imagine nothing ill. 

" And more, her long, and limber armes 
Had white and azure wrists ; 226 

And slender fingers aunswere to 
Her smooth and lillie fists. 



258 



ARGENTILE AND CURAN. 



" A legge in print, a pretie foot ; 

Conjecture of the rest : 
For amorous eies, observing forme, 

Think parts obscured best. 



230 



" With these, raretie ! with these 
Her tong of speech was spare ; 

But speaking, Venus seem'd to speake, 
The balle from Ide to bear. 236 

" With Phoebe, Juno, and with both 

Herselfe contends in face ; 
Wheare equall mixture did not want 

Of milde and stately grace. 240 

" Her smiles were sober, and her lookes 

Were chearefull unto all : 
Even such as neither wanton seeme 

Nor waiward ; mell, nor gall. 

" A quiet minde, a patient moode, 245 

And not disdaining any ; 
Not gybing, gadding, gawdy : and 

Sweete faculties had many. 

" A nimph, no tong, no heart, no eie, 249 
Might praise, might wish, might see ; 

For life, for love, for forme ; more good, 
More worth, more faire than shee. 

" Yea such an one, as such was none, 

Save only she was such : 
Of Argentile to say the most, 255 

Were to be silent much." 

I knew the lady very well, 

But worthies of such praise, 
The neatresse said : and muse I do, 

A shepheard thus should blaze 260 

The ' coate' of beautie.* Credit me, 

Thy latter speech bewraies. 

Thy clownish shape a coined shew 
But wherefore dost thou weepe ? 

The shepheard wept, and she was woe, 
And both doe silence keepe. 266 

" In troth, quoth he, I am not such, 

As seeming I professe : 
But then for her, and now for thee, 

I from myselfe digresse. 270 

* i. e. emblazon beauty's coat. Ed. 1597, 1602, 1612, read 
Coote. 



" Her loved I (wretch that I am 

A recreant to be) 
I loved her, that hated love, 

But now I die for thee. 

" At Kirkland is my fathers court, 275 

And Curan is my name, 
In Edels court sometimes in pompe, 

Till love countrould the same : 

" But now — what now ? — deare heart, how 
now? 

What ailest thou to weepe ?" 280 

The damsell wept, and he was woe, 

And both did silence keepe. 

I graunt, quoth she, it was too much, 

That you did love so much : 
But whom your former could not move, 

Your second love doth touch. 286 

Thy twice-beloved Argentile 

Submitteth her to thee, 
And for thy double love presents 

Herself a single fee, 290 

In passion not in person chang'd, 

And I, my lord, am she. 

They sweetly surfeiting in joy, 

And silent for a space. 
• When as the extasie had end, 295 

Did tenderly imbrace ; 
And for their wedding, and their wish 

Got fitting time and place. 

Not England (for of Hengist then 

Was named so this land) 300 

Then Curan had an hardier knight ; 
His force could none withstand : 

Whose sheep-hooke laid apart, he then 
Had higher things in hand. 

First, making knowne his lawfull claime 
In Argentile her right, 306 

He warr'd in Diria,* and he wonne, 
Bernicia* too in fight : 

And so from trecherous Edel tooke 
At once his life and crowne, 310 

And of Northumberland was king, 
Long raigning in renowne. 

* During the Saxon heptarchy, the kingdom of North- 
umberland (consisting of six northern counties, besides 
part of Scotland) was for a long time divided into two lesser 
sovereignties, viz., Deira (called here Diria) which contained 
the southern parts, and Bernicia, comprehend those which 
lay north. 



JANE SHORE. 



259 



XXV. 



€axxn'$ fat*. 



Only the three first stanzas of this song 
are ancient : these are extracted from a small 
quarto MS. in the Editor's possession, written 
in the time of Queen Elizabeth. As they 
seemed to want application, this has been at- 
tempted by a modern hand. 

Corin, most unhappie swaine, 
"Whither wilt thou drive thy flocke ? 

Little foode is on the plaine ; 
Full of danger is the rocke : 

Wolfes and beares doe kepe the woodes ; 5 
Forests tangled are with brakes : 

Meadowes subject are to floodes ; 
Moores are full of miry lakes. 



Yet to shun all plaine, and hill, 
Forest, moore, and meadow-ground, 



10 



Hunger will as surely kill : 

How may then reliefe be found ? 

Such is hapless Corins fate : 

Since my waywarde love begunne, 

Equall doubts begett debate 

What to seeke, and what to shunne. 

Spare to speke, and spare to speed ; 

Yet to speke will move disdaine : 
If I see her not I bleed, 

Yet her sight augments my paine. 

What may then poor Corin doe? 

Tell me, shepherdes, quicklye tell ; 
For to linger thus in woe 

Is the lover's sharpest hell. 



15 



20 



XXVI. 



ant Sljcn. 



Though so many vulgar errors have pre- 
vailed concerning this celebrated courtesan, 
no character in history has been more per- 
fectly handed down to us. We have her 
portrait drawn by two masterly pens ; the 
one has delineated the features of her person, 
the other those of her character and story. 
Sir Thomas More drew from the life, and 
Drayton has copied an original picture of 
her. The reader will pardon the length of 
the quotations, as they serve to correct many 
popular mistakes relating to her catastrophe. 
The first is from Sir Thomas More's History 
of Richard III. written in 1513, about thirty 
years after the death of Edward IV. 

" Now then by and by, as it wer for anger, 
not for covetise, the protector sent into the 
house of Shores wife (for her husband dwelled 
not with her) and spoiled her of al that ever 
she had (above the value of 2 or 3 thousand 
marks), and sent her body to prison. And 



when he had a while laide unto her, for the 
manner sake that she went about to bewitch 
him, and that she was of counsel with the 
lord chamberlein to destroy him : in conclu- 
sion, when that no colour could fasten upon 
these matters, then he layd heinously to her 
charge the thing that herselfe could not deny, 
that al the world wist was true, and that na- 
theless every man laughed at to here it then 
so sodainly so highly taken, — that she was 
naught of her body. And for thys cause, (as 
a goodly continent prince, clene and fautless 
of himself, sent out of heaven into this vicious 
world for the amendment of mens manners), 
he caused the bishop of London to put her to 
open pennance, going before the crosse in pro- 
cession uponasonday with a taper in her hand. 
In which she went in countenance and pace de- 
mure so womanly ; and albeit she was out of 
al array save her kyrtle only, yet went she 
so fair and lovely, namelye, while the won- 



260 



JANE SHORE. 



dering of the people caste a comly rud in her 
chekes (of which she before had most misse) 
that her great shame wan her much praise 
among those that were more amorous of her 
body, then curious of her soule. And many 
good folke also, that hated her living, and 
glad wer to se sin corrected, yet pittied thei 
more her penance than rejoiced therin, when 
thei considred that the protector procured it 
more of a corrupt intent, than any virtuous 
affeccion. 

" This woman was born in London, wor- 
shipfully frended, honestly brought up, and 
very wel maryed, saving somewhat to soone : 
her husbande an honest citizen, yonge, and 
goodly, and of good substance. But foras- 
muche as they were coupled ere she wer wel 
ripe, she not very fervently loved, for whom 
she never longed. Which was happely the 
thinge, that the more easily made her encline 
unto the king's appetite, when he required 
her. Howbeit the respect of his royaltie, the 
hope of gay apparel, ease, plesure, and other 
wanton welth, was able soone to perse a soft 
tender hearte. But when the king had 
abused her, anon her husband (as he was an 
honest man, and one that could his good, not 
presuming to touch a kinges concubine) left 
her up to him al together. When the king 
died, the lord chamberlen [Hastings] toke 
her:* which in the kinges daies, albeit he 
was sore enamoured upon her, yet he forbare 
her, either for reverence, or for a certain 
frendly faithfulness. 

" Proper she was, and faire : nothing in 
her body that you wold have changed, but if 
you would have wished her somewhat higher. 
Thus say thei that knew her in her youthe. 
Albeit some that ' now see her (for yet she 
liveth)' deme her never to have bene wel 
visaged. Whose jugement seemeth me some- 
what like, as though men should gesse the 



* After the death of Hastings, she was kept by the Mar. 
quis of Dorset, son to Edward IV.'s queen. In Rymer's 
Foedera is a proclamation of Kichard's, dated at Leicester, 
October 23, 14S3, wherein a reward of 1000 marks in money, 
or 100 a year in land is offered for taking " Thomas late 
Marquis of Dorset," who " not having the fear of God, nor 
the salvation of his own soul, before his eyes, has damnably 
debauched and denied many maids, widows, and wives, and 
' lived in actual adultery with the wife of Shore.' " Buck- 
ingham was at that time in rebellion, but as Dorset was 
not with him, Richard could not accuse him of treason, 
and therefore made a handle of these pretended debauch- 
aries to get him apprehended. Vide Rym. Foed. torn. xij. 
page 201. 



bewty of one longe before departed, by her 
scalpe taken out of the charnel-house ; for 
now is she old, lene, withered, and dried up, 
nothing left but ryvllde skin, and hard bone. 
And yet being even such, whoso wel advise 
herr visage, might gesse and devise which 
partes how filled, wold make it a fair face. 

" Yet delited not men so much in her 
bewty, as in her pleasant behaviour. For a 
proper wit had she, and could both rede wel 
and write ; mery in company, redy and quick 
of aunswer, neither mute nor ful of bable ; 
sometime taunting without displeasure, and 
not without disport. The king would say, 
That he had three concubines, which in three 
divers properties diversly excelled. One the 
meriest, another the wiliest, the thirde the 
holiest harlot in his realme, as one whom no 
man could get out of the church lightly to 
any place, but it wer to his bed. The other 
two wer somwhat greater personages, and 
natheles of their humilite content to be 
nameles, and to forbere the praise of those 
properties ; but the meriest was the Shoris 
wife, in whom the king therfore toke special 
pleasure. For many he had, but her he 
loved, whose favour, to sai the trouth (for 
sinne it wer to belie the devil) she never 
abused to any mans hurt, but to many a mans 
comfort and relief. Where the king toke dis- 
pleasure, she would mitigate and appease his 
mind: where men were out of favour, she 
wold bring them in his grace : for many, 
that had highly oifended, shee obtained par- 
don : of great forfeitures she gate men remis- 
sion : and finally in many weighty sutes she 
stode many men in great stede, either for 
none or very smal rewardes, and those rather 
gay than rich : either for that she was con- 
tent with the dede selfe well done, or for that 
she delited to be sued unto, and to show what 
she was able to do with the king, or for that 
wanton women and welthy be not alway 
covetous. 

" I doubt not some shal think this woman 
too sleight a thing to be written of, and set 
amonge the remembraunces of great matters : 
which thei shal specially think, that happely 
shal esteme her only by that thei ' now see 
her.' But me semeth the chaunce so much 
the more worthy to be remembred, in how 
much she is 'now' in the more beggerly con- 
dicion, unfrended and worne out of acquaint- 
ance, after good substance, after as grete 



JANE SHORE. 



261 



favour with the prince, after as grete sute and 
seeking to with al those, that in those days 
had busynes to spede, as many other men 
were in their times, which be now famouse 
only by the infamy of their il dedes. Her 
doinges were not much lesse, albeit thei be 
muche lesse remembred because thei were 
not so evil. *For men use, if they have an 
evil turne, to write it in marble ; and whoso 
doth us a good tourne, we write it in duste. 
Which is not worst proved by her ; for ' at 
this daye' shee beggeth of many at this daye 
living, that at this day had begged, if shee 
had not bene." See More's Workes, folio, 
black-letter, 1557, pp. 50, 57. 

Drayton has written a poetical epistle from 
this lady to her royal lover, and in his notes 
thereto he thus draws her portrait: " Her 
stature was meane, her haire of a dark yel- 
low, her face round and full, her eye gray, 
delicate harmony being betwixt each part's 
proportion, and each proportion's colour, her 
body fat, white and smooth, her countenance 
cheerfull and like to her condition. The pic- 
ture which I have seen of hers was such as 
she rose out of her bed in the morning, hav- 
ing nothing on but a rich mantle cast under 
one arme over her shoulder, and sitting on a 
chaire, on which her naked arm did lie. 
What her father's name was, or where she 
was borne, is not certainly knowne : but Shore, 
a young man of right goodly person, wealth, 
and behaviour, abandoned her bed after the 
king had made her his concubine. Richard 
III., causing her to do open penance in Paul's 
church-yard, 'commanded that no man should 
relieve her/ which the tyrant did, not so 
much for his hatred to sinne, but that by 
making his brother's life odious, he might 
cover his horrible treasons the more cunning- 
ly." See England's Heroical Epistles, by 
Michael Drayton, Esq,, London, 1637, 12mo. 

The history of Jane Shore receives new 
illustration from the following letter of King 
Richard III., which is preserved in the Harl. 
MSS., Number 433, Article 2378, but of which 
the copy transmitted to the Editor has been 

* These words of Sir Thomas More probably suggested to 
Shakspeare that proverbial reflection in Hen. VIII., Act 4, 
sc. 11. 

" Men's evill manners live in brass : their virtues 
We write in water." 
Shakspeare, in his play of Eichard III., follows More's 
History of that reign, and therefore could not but see this 
passage. 



reduced to modern orthography, &c. It is 
said to have been addressed to Russell bishop 
of Lincoln, lord chancellor, Anno 1484. 

By the KING. 

" Right Reverend Father in God, &c, sig- 
nifying unto you, that it is shewed unto us, 
that our Servant and Solicitor Thomas Ly- 
nom, marvellously blinded and abused with 
the late Wife of William Shore, now living 
in Ludgate by our commandment, hath made 
Contract of Matrimony with her, as it is said, 
and intendeth to our full great marvel, to 
effect the same. WE, for many causes, would 
be sorry that he should be so disposed ; pray 
you therefore to send for him, and in that ye 
goodly may, exhort, and stir him to the con- 
trary : And if ye find him utterly set for to 
marry her, and none otherwise would be 
advertized, then, if it may stand with the 
laws of the church, we be content that the 
time of marriage be deferred to our coming 
next to London ; that upon sufficient Surety 
found of her good abearing, ye do so send for 
her Keeper, and discharge him of our said 
commandment, by Warrant of these, commit- 
ting her to the rule, and guiding of her 
Father, or any other, by your direction, in 
the mean season. Given, &c. 

" RIC. Rex." 

It appears from two articles in the same 
MS. that King Richard had granted to the 
said Thomas Linom the office of King's So- 
licitor (Article 134), and also the Manor of 
Colmeworth, com Bedf., to him, his heirs 
male (Article 596). 

An original picture of Jane Shore almost 
naked is preserved in the Provost's Lodgings 
at Eton ; and another picture of her is in the 
Provost's Lodge at King's College, Cam- 
bridge: to both which foundations she is 
supposed to haye done friendly offices with 
Edward IV. A small quarto mezzotinto 
print was taken from the former of these by 
J. Faber. 

The following ballad is printed (with some 
corrections) from an old black-letter copy in 
the Pepys collection. Its full title is, " The 
woeful lamentation of Jane Shore, a gold- 
smith's wife in London, sometime king Ed- 
ward IV. his concubine. To the tune of 
' Live with me,' &c." [See the first volume.] 
To every stanza is annexed the following 
burthen : 



262 



JANE SHORE. 



Then maids and wives in time amend 
For love and beauty will have end. 

If Rosamonde that was so faire, 
Had cause her sorrowes to declare, 
Then let Jane Shore with sorrowe sing 
That was beloved of a king. 

In maiden yeares my beautye bright 5 

Was loved dear of lord and knight ; 
But yet the love that they requir'd, 
It was not as my friends desir'd. 

My parents they, for thirst of gaine, 

A husband for me did obtaine ; 10 

And I, their pleasure to fulfille, 

Was forc'd to wedd against my wille. 

To Matthew Shore I was a wife, 

Till lust brought ruine to my life ; 

And then my life I lewdlye spent, 15 

Which makes my soul for to lament. 

In Lombard-street I once did dwelle, 

As London yet can witnesse welle ; 

Where many gallants did beholde 

My beautye in a shop of golde. 20 

I spred my plumes, as wantons doe, 
Some sweet and secret friende to wooe, 
Because chast love I did not finde 
Agreeing to my wanton minde. 

At last my name in court did ring 25 

Into the eares of Englandes king, 
Who came and lik'd, and love requir'd, 
But I made coye what he desir'd : 

Yet Mistress Blague, a neighbour neare, 
Whose friendship I esteemed deare, 30 

Did saye, It was a gallant thing 
To be beloved of a king. 

By her persuasions I was led 

For to defile my marriage-bed, 

And wronge my wedded husband Shore, 35 

Whom I had married yeares before. 

In heart and mind I did rejoyce, 

That I had made so sweet a choice ; 

And therefore did my state resigne, 

To be king Edward's concubine. 40 



From city then to court I went, 
To reape the pleasures of content ; 
There had the joyes that love could bring, 
And knew the secrets of a king. 

When I was thus advane'd on highe 45 

Commanding Edward with mine eye, 
For Mrs. Blague I in short space 
Obtainde a livinge from his grace. 

No friende I had but in short time 

I made unto a promotion climbe ; 50 

But yet for all this costlye pride, 

My husbande could not mee abide. 

His bed, though wronged by a king, 
His heart with deadlye griefe did sting ; 
From England then he goes away 55 

To end his life beyond the sea. 

He could not live to see his name 
Impaired by my wanton shame ; 
Although a prince of peerlesse might 
Did reape the pleasure of his right. 60 

Long time I lived in the courte, 
With lords and ladies of great sorte ; 
And when I smil'd all men were glad, 
But when I frown'd my prince grewe sad. 

But yet a gentle minde I bore 65 

To helplesse people, that were poore ; 

I still redrest the orphan's crye, 

And sav'd their lives condemned to dye. 

I still had ruth on widowes tears, 

I succour'd babes of tender yeares ; 70 

And never look'd for other gaine 

But love and thankes for all my paine. 

At last my royall king did dye, 
And then my dayes of woe grew nighe ; 74 
When crook-back Richard got the crowne, 
King Edwards friends were soon put downe. 

I then was punisht for my sin, 

That I so long had lived in ; 

Yea, every one that was bis friend, 

This tyrant brought to shamefull end. 80 

Then for my lewd and wanton life, 
That made a strumpet of a wife, 
I penance did in Lombard-street, 
In shamefull manner in a sheet. 



JANE SHORE. 



263 



Where many thousands did me viewe, 85 
Who late in court my credit knewe ; 
Which made the teares run downe my face, 
To thinke upon my foul disgrace. 

Not thus content, they took from mee 
My goodes, my livings, and my fee, 90 

And charg'd that none should me relieve, 
Nor any succour to me g^ve. 

Then unto Mrs. Blague I went, 

To whom my jewels I had sent, 

In hope therebye to ease my want, 95 

When riches fail'd, and love grew scant : 



But she denyed to me the same 
When in my need for them I came; 
T<? recompence my former love, 
Out of her doores shee did me shove. 



100 



So love did vanish with my state, 
Which now my soul repents too late ; 
Therefore example take by mee, 
For friendship parts in povertle. 

But yet one friend among the rest, 
Whom I before had seen distrest, 
And sav'd his life, condemn'd to die, 
Did give me food to succour me : 

For which, by lawe, it was decreed 
That he was hanged for that deed ; 
His death did grieve me so much more, 
Than had I dyed myself therefore. 

Then those to whom I had done good 
Durst not afford mee any food ; 
Whereby I begged all the day, 
And still in streets by night I lay. 

My gowns beset with pearl and gold, 
Were turn'd to simple garments old ; 



105 



110 



115 



My chains and gems and golden rings, 

To filthy rags and loathsome things. 120 

Thus was I scorn'd of maid and wife, 
For leading such a wicked life ; 
Both sucking babes and children small, 
Did make their pastime at my fall. 

I could not get one bit of bread, 125 

Whereby my hunger might be fed : 
Nor drink, but such as channels yield, 
Or stinking ditches in the field. 

Thus, weary of my life, at lengthe 
I yielded up my vital strength, 130 

Within a ditch of loathsome scent, 
Where carrion dogs did much frequent : 

The which now since my dying daye, 
Is Shoreditch call'd, as writers saye ;* 
Which is a witness of my sinne, 135 

For being concubine to a king. 

You wanton wives, that fall to lust, 
Be you assur'd that God is just ; 
Whoredome shall not escape his hand, 
Nor pride unpunish'd in this land. 140 

If Ood to me such shame did bring, 
That yielded only to a king, 
How shall they scape that daily run 
To practise sin with every one? 

You husbands, match not but for love, 145 

Lest some disliking after prove ; 

Women, be warn'd when you are wives, 

What plagues are due to sinful lives : 
Then, maids and wives, in time amend, 
For love and beauty will have end. 



* But it had this name long before; being so called from 
its being a common Sewer (vulgarly Shore) or drain. See 
Stow. 



34 



264 



CORYDON'S DOLEFUL KNELL. 



XXVII. 



togtan's guileful %xaSL 



This little simple elegy is given, with some 
corrections, from two copies, one of which is 
in " The Golden Garland of Princely De- 
lights." 

The burthen of the song, " Ding Dong, 
&c," is at present appropriated to burlesque 
subjects, and, therefore, may excite only lu- 
dicrous ideas in a modern reader ; but, in the 
time of our poet, it usually accompanied the 
most solemn and mournful strains. Of this 
kind is that fine aerial dirge in Shakspeare's 
Tempest: 

" Full fadom five thy father lies, 

Of his bones are corrall made ; 
Those are pearles that were his eyes ; 

Nothing of him that doth fade, 
But doth suffer a sea-change 

Into something rich and strange : 

Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell, 
Harke now I heare them, Ding dong bell. 
" Burthen, Ding dong." 

I make no doubt but the poet intended to 
conclude the above air in a manner the most 
solemn and expressive of melancholy. 

My Phillida, adieu love ! 
For evermore farewell ! 
Ay me ! I've lost my true love, 
And thus I ring her knell, 

Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, 5 

My Phillida is dead ! 
I'll stick a branch of willow 
At my fair Phillis' head. 

For my fair Phillida, 

Our bridal bed was made : 10 

But 'stead of silkes so gay, 

She in her shroud is laid. 
Ding, &c. 

Her corpse shall be attended, 

By maides in fair array, 
Till the obsequies are ended, 15 

And she is wrapt in clay. 
Ding, &c. 



Her herse it shall be carried 

By youths that do excell ; 
And when that she is buried, 

I thus will ring her knell, 20 

Ding, &c. 

A garland shall be framed 

By art and natures skill, 
Of sundry-colour'dilowers, 

In token of good-will.* 
Ding, &c. 

And sundry-colour'd ribbands 25 

On it I will bestow ! 
But chiefly black and yellowe :f 

"With her to grave shall go. 
Ding, &c. 

I'll decke her tombe with flowers, 
The rarest ever seen, 30 

And with my tears, as showers, 
I'll keepe them fresh and green. 
Ding, &c. 

Instead of fairest colours, 

Set forth with curious art, J 
Her image shall be painted 35 

On my distressed heart. 
Ding, &c. 

And thereon shall be graven 

Her epitaph so faire, 
" Here lies the loveliest maiden, 

That e'er gave shepheard care." 40 

Ding, &c. 

In sable will I mourne ; 

Blacke shall be all my weede 
Ay me ! I am forlorne, 
Now Phillida is dead ! 

Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, 45 

My Phillida is dead ! 
I'll stick a branch of willow 
At my fair Phillis' head. 

* It is a custom in many parts of England, to carry a 
flowery garland before the corpse of a woman who dies 
unmarried. 

t See above, preface to No. XI. Book II. 

X This alludes to the painted effigies of Alabaster, 
anciently erected upon tombs and monuments. 



THE END OF THE SECOND BOOK. 



THE COMPLAINT OF CONSCIENCE. 



265 



SERIES THE SECOND. 
BOOK III. 



%\t tafMni 0f €mukm. 



I shall begin this Third Book with an old 
allegoric satire : a manner of moralizing, 
■which, if it was not first introduced by the 
author of " Pierce Plowman's Visions," was at 
least chiefly brought into repute by that ancient 
satirist. It is not so generally known that 
the kind of verse used in this ballad hath any 
affinity with the peculiar metre of that wri- 
ter, for which reason I shall throw together 
some cursory remarks on that very singular 
species of versification, the nature of which 
has been so little understood. 

ON THE ALLITERATIVE METRE, WITHOUT RHYME, 
IN PIERCE PLOWMAN'S VISIONS. 

We learn from Wormius,* that the ancient 
Islandic poets used a great variety of mea- 
sures : he mentions 136 different kinds, with- 
out including rhyme, or a correspondence of 
final syllables : yet this was occasionally used, 
as appears from the Ode of Egil, which Wor- 
mius hath inserted in his book. 

He hath analyzed the structure of one of 
these kinds of verse, the harmony of which 
neither depended on the quantity of the syl- 
lables, like that of the ancient Greeks or Ro- 
mans ; nor on the rhymes at the end, as in 
modern poetry; but consisted altogether in 
alliteration, or a certain artful repetition of 
the sounds in the middle of the verses. This 
was adjusted according to certain rules of 
their prosody, one of which was, that every 
distich should contain at least three words 
beginning with the same letter or sound. 
Two of these corresponding sounds might be 
placed either in the first or second line of the 
distich, and one in the other ; but all three 
were not regularly to be crowded into one 

* Literatura Runica. Hafnias 1636, 4to— 1651, fol. The 
Islandic language is of the same origin as our Anglo-Saxon, 
being both dialects of the ancient Gothic or Teutonic. Vid 
Hickesii Praefat. in Graniniat Anglo-Saxon & Moeso-Goth- 
4to. 1689. 

I 



line. This will be the best understood by 
the following examples.* 

" ilfeire og M inne " Gah £inunga 
i/ogu heimdaller." Enn Gras huerge." 

There were many other little niceties ob- 
served by the Islandic poets, who, as they 
retained their original language and pecu- 
liarities longer than the other nations of Go- 
thic race, had time to cultivate their native 
poetry more, and to carry it to a higher 
pitch of refinement than any of the rest. 

Their brethren, the Anglo-Saxon poets, oc- 
casionally used the same kind of alliteration, 
and it is common to meet in their writings 
with similar examples of the foregoing rules. 
Take an instance or two in modern charac- 
ters :f 

" Skeorj tha and S/cyrede "IZam and ITeahsetl 
/Sftyppend ure. " IZeofena rikes." 

I know not, however, that there is anywhere 
extant an entire Saxon poem all in this mea- 
sure. But distichs of this sort perpetually 
occur in all their poems of any length. 

Now, if we examine the versification of 
" Pierce Plowman's Visions," we shall find it 
constructed exactly by these rules • and there- 
fore each line, as printed, is in reality a dis- 
tich of two verses, and will, I believe, be 
found distinguished as such, by some mark 
or other in all the ancient MSS., viz. 
" In a Corner Reason, | when ' hot'J was the 

Sarnie, 
I $7iope me into >S7*roubs, | as I a £/*epe 

were ; 
In iZabite as an ZZarmet, | uniZbly of werkes, 
Went JFyde in thys world | IPbnders to 

heare," &c. 

* Vid. Ilickes Antiq. Literatur. Septentrional. Tom. I. p. 
217. 

t Ibid. 

J So I would read with Mr. Warton, rather than either 
" soft," as in MS., or " set," as in V. CC. 



So that the author of this poem will not be 
found to have invented any new mode of ver- 
sification, as some have supposed, but only 
to have retained that of the old Saxon and 
Gothic poets ; which was probably never 
wholly laid aside, but occasionally used at 
different intervals : though the ravages of 
time will not suffer us now to produce a regu- 
lar series of poems entirely written in it. 

There are some readers, whom it may gra- 
tify to mention, that these " Visions of Pierce 
[i. e. Peter] the Plowman," are attributed to 
Robert Langland, a secular priest, born at 
Mortimer's Cleobury in Shropshire, and fel- 
low of Oriel college in Oxford, who flourished 
in the reigns of Edward III. and Richard II., 
and published his poem a few years after 
1350. It consists of xx Passus or Breaks,* 
exhibiting a series of visions, which he pre- 
tends happened to him on Malvern hills in 
Worcestershire. The author excels in strong, 
allegoric painting, and has with great hu- 
mour, spirit, and fancy, censured most of the 
vices incident to the several professions of 
life ; but he particularly inveighs against 
the corruptions of the clergy, and the absurdi- 
ties of superstition. Of this work, I have 
now before me four different editions in 
black-letter quarto. Three of them are printed 
in 1550 by Robert Crowley, dicelling in Elye 
rentes in Holburne. It is remarkable that 
two of these are mentioned in the title-page 
as both of the second impression, though they 
contain evident variations in every page.f 
The other is said to be newlye imprynted after 

the authors olde copy by Owen Rogers, 

Feb. 21, 1561. 

As Langland was. not the first, so neither 
was he the last that used this alliterative spe- 
cies of versification. To Rogers's edition of 
the Visions is subjoined a poem, which was 
probably writ in imitation of them, entitled, 
" Pierce the Ploughman's Crede." It begins 
thus : 

* The poem properly contains xxi parts ; the word passus, 
adopted by the author, seems only to denote the break or 
division between two parts, though by the ignorance of the 
printer applied to the parts themselves. See Series III., 
preface to ballad III., where Passus seems to signify pause. 

t That which seems the first of the two, is thus distin- 
guished in the title-page, nowe the seconde tyme imprinted 
by Roberte Crowlxje ; the other thus, nowe the seconde time 
imprinted by Robert Crowley. In the former the folios are 
thus erroneously numbered, 39, 39, 41, 63, 43, 42, 45 &c. 
The booksellers of those days did not ostentatiously affect 
to multiply editions. 



" Cros, and Curteis Christ, this beginning 

specie 
For the .Faders .Frendshipe, that .Fourmed 

heaven. 
And through the /Special Spirit, that Sprong 

of hem tweyne, 
And al in one godhed endles dwelleth." 

The author feigns himself ignorant of his 
Creed, to be instructed in which he applies to 
the four religious orders, viz., the gray friars 
of St. Francis, the black friars of St. Domi- 
nic, the Carmelites or white friars, and the 
Augustines. This affords him occasion to 
describe in very lively colours, the sloth, ig- 
norance, and immorality of those reverend 
drones. At length he meets with Pierce, a 
poor ploughman, who resolves his doubts, 
and instructs him in the principles of true 
religion. The author was evidently a follower 
of Wiccliff, whom he mentions (with honour) 
as no longer living.* Now that reformer 
died in 1384. How long after his death this 
poem was written, does not appear. 

In the Cotton library is a volume of an- 
cient English poems,t two of which are writ- 
ten in this alliterative metre, and have the 
division of the lines into distichs distinctly 
marked by a point, as is usual in old poetical 
MSS. That which stands first of the two 
(though perhaps the latest written) is enti- 
tled, " The sege of I erlam," [i. e. Jerusalem] 
being an old fabulous legend, composed by 
some monk, and stuffed with marvellous fig- 
ments concerning the destruction of the holy 
city and temple. It begins thus : 

"In Tyberius Tyme . the TVewe emperour 
Syr Sesav hymself . be&ted in Rome 
Whyll Pylat was -Provoste . under that Pry nee 

ryche 
And Jewes Justice also . of Judeas londe 
iTerode under empere . as i/erytage wolde 
A'yng," &c. 

The other is entitled, " Chevalere Assigne" 
[or De Cigne], that is, " The Knight of the 
Swan," being an ancient Romance, begin- 
ning thus : 

'• All- IFeldynge God . Whene it is his TTylle 
JPele he ITereth his JFerke . With his owene 
honde 

* Signature : 2Tti. 

t Caligula A. ij. fol. 109, 123. 



ON ALLITERATIVE METRE. 



267 



For ofte Sarnies were Pente . that Pelpe we 

ne myzte 
Nere the Pyznes of Pym . that lengeth in 

Pevene 
For this," &c. 

Among Mr. Garrick's collection of old 
plays* is a prose narrative of the adventures 
of this same Knight of the Swan, " newly 
translated out of Frenshe into Englyshe, at 
thinstigacion of the puyssant and illustryous 
prynce, lorde Edward duke of Buckyng- 
hame." This lord, it seems, had a peculiar 
interest in the book, for in the preface the 
translator tells us, that this, " highe dygne 
and illustryous prynce my lorde Edwarde by 
the grace of god Duke of Buckyngham, erle 
of Hereforde, Stafforde, and Northampton, 
desyrynge cotydyally to encrease and aug- 
ment the name and fame of such as were re- 
lucent in vertuous feates and triumphaunt 
actes of chyvalry, and to encourage and styre 
every lusty and gentell herte by the exemply- 
ficacyon of the same, havyng a goodli booke of 
the highe and miraculous histori of a famous 
and puyssaunt kynge, named Oryant some- 
time reynynge in the parties of beyonde the 
sea, havynge to his wife a noble lady ; of 
whome she conceyved sixe sonnes and a 
daughter, and chylded of them at one only 
time ; at whose byrthe echone of them had a 
chayne of sylver at their neckes, the which 
were all tourned by the provydence of god 
into whyte swannes, save one, of the whiche 
this present hystory is compyld, named Hel- 
yas, the knight of the swanne, ' of whome lini- 
allyis dyscended my sayde lorde.' The whiche 
ententifly to have the sayde hystory more 
amply and unyversally knowen in thys hys 
natif countrie, as it is in other, hath of hys 
hie bountie by some of his faithful and trusti 
eervauntes cohorted mi mayster Wynkin de 
Wordef to put the said vertuous hystori in 

prynte at whose instigacion and stir- 

ing I (Roberte Copland) have me applied, 
moiening the helpe of god, to reduce and 
translate it into our maternal and vulgare 
english tonge after the capacite and rude- 
nesse of my weke entendement." — A curious 
picture of the times ! While in Italy litera- 
ture and the fine arts were ready to burst 

* K. vol. x. 

+ W. de Worde's edit, is in 1512. See Ames, p. 92. Mr. 
Q.'b copy is " fl Imprinted at London by me William Copland." 



forth with classical splendour under Leo X., 
the first peer of this realm was proud to de- 
rive his pedigree from a fabulous " Knight 
of the Swan."* 

To return to the metre of Pierce Plowman: 
In the folio MS. so often quoted in this work, 
are two poems written in that species of ver- 
sification. One of these is an ancient allego- 
rical poem, entitled " Death and Life" (in 2 
fitts or parts, containing 458 distichs), which, 
for aught that appears, may have been writ- 
ten as early, if not before the time of Lang- 
land. The first forty lines are broke as they 
should be into distichs, a distinction that is 
neglected in the remaining part of the tran- 
script, in order, I suppose, to save room. It 
begins, 

" C%rist C%risten king 

that on the Crosse tholed ; 
Hadd Paines and Passyons 

to defend our soules ; 
Give us GVace on the GVound 

the GVeatlye to serve, 
For that Poyal .Red blood 

that Pann from thy side." 

The subject of this piece is a vision, wherein 
the poet sees a contest for superiority between 
" our lady Dame Life," and the " ugly fiend 
Dame Death ;" who with their several attri- 
butes and concomitants are personified in a 
fine vein of allegoric painting. Part of the 
description of Dame Life is, 

" Shee was .Brighter of her Plee, 

then was the .Bright sonn : 
Her Pudd .Redder then the Pose, 

that on the Pise hangeth : 
Jlfeekely smiling with her ilfouth, 

And Merry in her lookes ; 
Ever iaughing for iove, 

as shee .Like would. 
And as shee came by the Pankes, 

the Poughes eche one 
They iowted to that Zadye, 

And iayd forth their branches ; 
Plossomes and Purgens 

Preathed full sweete ; 
Plowers Plourished in the Prith, 

where shee Porth stepped ; 



X He is said in the story book to be the grandfather of 
Godfrey of Boulogne, through whom I suppose the duke 
made out his relation to him. This duke was beheaded 
May 17, 1521, 13 Henry VIII. 



268 



ON ALLITERATIVE METRE. 



And the ffrasse, that was Gray, 
Greened belive." 

Death is afterwards sketched out with a no 
less bold and original pencil. 

The other poem is that which is ([noted in 
the 181st page of this work, and which was 
probably the last that was ever written in 
this kind of metre in its original simplicity, 
unaccompanied with rhyme. It should have 
been observed above in page 18.1, that in this 
poem the lines are throughout divided into 
distichs, thus : 

Grant Gracious God, 
Grant me this time, &c. 

It is entitled, " Scottish Feilde" (in 2 fitts, 
420 distichs,) containing a very circumstan- 
tial narrative of the battle of Flodden, fought 
Sept. 9, 1513 : at which the author seems to 
have been present, from his speaking in the 
first person plural : 

" Then we Ti\d downe our Tbnts, 
that Ibid were a thousand." 

In the conclusion of the poem he gives this 
account of himself: 

" He was a Gentleman by Jesu, 

that this Gest* made : 
Which /Say but as he /Saydf 

for /Sooth and noe other. 
At -Bagily that .Bearne 
his .Siding place had ; 
And his ancestors of old time 
have yeardedj theire longe, 
Before William Gonquerour 
this Guntry did inhabitt. 
Jesus .Bring ' them'§ to .Blisse, 

that .Brought us forth of bale, 
That hath Ziearkned me iZeare 
Or iZeard my tale." 

The village of Bagily or Baguleigh is in 
Cheshire, and had belonged to the aucient 
family of Legh for two centuries before the 
battle of Flodden. Indeed, that the author 



* Jest, MS. 

f Probably corrupted for — " Says but as he Saw." 

J Yearded, i. e. buried, earthed, carded. It is common 
to pronounce " Earth," in some parts of England " Yearth," 
particularly in the North. — Pitscottie, speaking of James 
III., slain at Bannockbourn, says, " Nae man wot whar 
they yearded him." 

jS "us," MS. In the second line above, the MS. has 
" bidding." 



was of that country appears from other pas- 
sages in the body of the poem, particularly 
from the pains he takes to wipe off a stain 
from the Cheshiremen, who it seems ran 
away in that battle, and from his encomiums 
on the Stanleys Earls of Derby, who usually 
headed that county. He laments the death 
of James Stanley, bishop of Ely, as what 
had recently happened when this poem was 
written ; which serves to ascertain its date, 
for that prelate died March 22, 1514-5. 

Thus have we traced the Alliterative Mea- 
sure so low as the sixteenth century. It is 
remarkable that all such poets as used this 
kind of metre, retained along with it many 
peculiar Saxon idioms, particularly such as 
were appropriated to poetry: this deserves 
the attention of those who are desirous to 
recover the laws of the ancient Saxon Poesy, 
usually given up as inexplicable : I am of 
opinion that they will find what they seek in 
the metre of Pierce Plowman.* 

About the beginning of the sixteenth cen- 
tury this kind of versification began to change 
its form : the author of " Scottish Field," we 
see, concludes his poem with a couplet in 
rhyme : this was an innovation that did but 
prepare the way for the general admission of 
that more modish ornament : till at length the 
old uncouth verse of the ancient writers 
would no longer go down without it. Yet 
when Rhyme began to be superadded, all the 
niceties of Alliteration were at first retained 
along with it ; and the song of " Little John 
Nobody" exhibits this union very clearly. 
By degrees the correspondence of final sounds 
engrossing the whole attention of the poet, 
and fully satisfying the reader, the internal 
embellishment of Alliteration was no longer 
studied, and thus was this kind of metre at 
length swallowed up and lost in our common 
Burlesque Alexandrine, or Anapestic verse,f 



* And in that of Robert of Gloucester. See the next 
note. 

f Consisting of four Anapests ( ° « - ) in which the ac- 
cent rests upon every third syllable. This kind of verse, 
which I also call the Burlesque Alexandrine to distinguish 
it from the other Alexandrines of eleven and fourteen 
syllables, the parents of our lyric measure (See examples, 
pp. 151, 152, &c.) was early applied by Robert of Gloucester 
to serious subjects. That writer's metre, like this of Lang- 
land's, is formed on the Saxon models (each verse of his 
containing a Saxon distich) ; only instead of the internal 
alliterations adopted by Langland, he rather chose final 
rhymes, as the French poets have done since, Take a 
specimen. 



ON ALLITERATIVE METRE. 



269 



now never used but in ballads and pieces of 
light humour, as in the following song of 
" Conscience," and in that well-known dog- 
grel, 

"A cobler there was, and he lived in a stall." 

But although this kind of measure hath 
with us been thus degraded, it still retains 
among the French its ancient dignity ; their 
grand heroic verse of twelve syllables* is the 
same genuine offspring of the old alliterative 
metre of the ancient Gothic and Francic 
poets, stript like our Anapestic of its allitera- 
tion, and ornamented with rhyme. But with 
this difference, that whereas this kind of verse 
hath been applied by us only to light and 
trivial subjects, to which by its quick and 
lively measure it seemed best adapted, our 
poets have let it remain in a more lax uncon- 
fined state,f as a greater degree of severity 
and strictness would have been inconsistent 
with the light and airy subjects to which they 
have applied it. On the other hand, the 
French having retained this verse as the 
vehicle of their epic and tragic flights, in 
order to give it a stateliness and dignity were 



" The Saxons tho in their power, tho thii were so rive, 
Seve kingdoms made in Engelonde, and sutlie but vive: 
The king of Northomberlond, and of Eastangle also, 
Of Kent, and of Westsex, and of the March, therto." 
Robert of Gloucester wrote in the western dialect, and his 
language differs exceedingly from that of other contempo- 
rary writers, who resided in the metropolis, or in the mid- 
land counties. Had the heptarchy continued, our English 
language would probably hare been as much distinguished 
for its different dialects as the Greek ; or at least as that of 
the several independent states of Italy. 

* Or of thirteen syllables, in what they call a feminine 
Terse. It is remarkable that the French alone have retained 
this old Gothic metre for their serious poems ; while the 
English, Spaniards, &c, have adopted the Italic verse of ten 
syllables, jflthough the Spaniards, as well as we, anciently 
used a short-lined metre. I believe the success with which 
Petrarch, and perhaps one or two others, first used the 
heroic verse of ten syllables in Italian Poesy, recommended 
it to the Spanish writers ; as it also did to our Chaucer, who 
first attempted it in English ; and to his successors Lord 
Surrey, Sir Thomas Wyat, &c. ; who afterwards improved 
it and brought it to perfection. To Lord Surrey we also 
owe the first introduction of blank verse in his versions 
of the second and fourth books of the iEneid, 1557, 4to. 

t Thus our poets use this verse indifferently with twelve, 
eleven, and even ten syllables. For though regularly it 
consists of four anapests (o j -) or twelve syllables, yet 
they frequently retrench a syllable from the first or third 
anapest; and sometimes from both ; as in these instances 
from Prior and from the following song of Conscience : 
Who has eer been at Paris must needs know the Greve, 
The fatal retreat of th' unfortunate brave. 
HS stept t<5 him straight, and did him require. 



obliged to confine it to more exact laws of 
Scansion ; they have therefore limited it to 
the number of twelve syllables ; and by 
making the Cassura or Pause as full and 
distinct as possible, and by other severe re- 
strictions, have given it all the solemnity of 
which it was capable. The harmony of both, 
however, depends so much on the same flow 
of cadence and disposal of the pause, that 
they appear plainly to be of the same original ; 
and every French heroic verse evidently con- 
sists of the ancient Distich of their Francic 
ancestors : which, by the way, will account 
to us why this verse of the French so natu- 
rally resolves itself into two complete hemi- 
stichs. And indeed by making the caesura 
or pause always to rest on the last syllable 
of a word, and by making a kind of pause 
in the sense, the French poets do in effect 
reduce their hemistichs to two distinct and 
independent verses: and some of their old 
poets have gone so far as to make the two 
hemistichs rhyme to each other.* 

After all, the old alliterative and anapestic 
metre of the English poets being chiefly used 
in a barbarous age, and in a rude unpolished 
language, abounds in verses defective in 
length, proportion, and harmony ; and there- 
fore cannot enter into a comparison with the 
correct versification of the best modern French 
writers ; but making allowances for these 
defects, that sort of metre runs with a cadence 
so exactly resembling the French heroic 
Alexandrine, that I believe no peculiarities 
of their versification can be produced, which 
cannot be exactly matched in the alliterative 
metre. I shall give by way of example a 
few lines from the modern French poets ac- 
commodated with parallels from the ancient 
poem of " Life and Death ;" in these I shall 
denote the Caesura or Pause by a perpendicu- 
lar line, and the cadence by the marks of the 
Latin quantity. 

Le succes fut toujour $ \ fin enfant del' duddce; 

All shall drye with the dints | that I deal with my hands. 

L'homme prudent voit trap \ Vtllusionle siiit, 

Yonder damsel is death | that dresseth her to smite. 

Uintrepide voit mieux \ et le fantome fuit.-f 

When she dolefully saw | how she dang downe hir folke. 

Meme aiix yeux de Vinjuste \ fin tnjilste est horribU.% 

Then she cast tip a crye | to the high king of heaven. 



* See instances in L'Hist. de la Poesie Frangoise par 
Massieu, &c. In the same book are also specimens of alli- 
terative French verses. 

t Catalina, A. 3. % Boileau Sat 



270 



ON ALLITERATIVE METRE. 



Du mensonge tni/jn'irs | U vrdi dttneure maitri, 
Thflu shalt bitterlyB bye | Or else the bookg faileth. 
Fo&r pdroitre honnete homme \ in un mot, U fdut I'etre* 
Thus I fared tbrGughe a frythh i where the flowers were 
manyS. 

To conclude ; the metre of Pierce Plow- 
man's Visions has no kind of affinity with 
what is commonly called Blank Verse; yet 
has it a sort of harmony of its own, proceed- 
ing not so much from its alliteration, as from 
the artful disposal of its cadence, and the 
contrivance of its pause ; so that when the 
ear is a little accustomed to it, it is by no 
means unpleasing ; but claims all the merit 
of the French heroic numbers, only far less 
polished ; being sweetened, instead of their 
final rhymes, with the internal recurrence of 
similar sounds. 

This Essay will receive illustration from 
another specimen in Warton's " History of 
English Poetry," Vol. I., p. 309, being the 
fragment of a MS. poem on the subject of 
"Alexander the Great," in the Bodleian Li- 
brary, which he supposes to be the same with 
Number 44, in the Ashmol. MSS., containing 
twenty-seven pasus, and beginning thus : 

Whener folk fastid [feasted, qu.] and fed, 
fayne wolde thei her [i. e. hear] 
Some farand thing, &c. 

It is well observed by Mr. Tyrwhitt, on 
Chaucer's sneer at this old alliterative metre 
(Vol. iii. p. 305), viz.: 

1 am a Sotherne [i. e. Southern] man, 

I cannot geste, rom, ram, raf, by my letter. 

That the fondness for this species of versifi- 
nation, &c.,was retained longest in the north- 
ern provinces : and that the author of " Pierce 
Plowman's Visions" is in the best MSS. 
called " William," without any surname. 
(See vol. iv. p. 74.) 

ADDITIONS TO THE ESSAY ON THE ALLITERATIVE 
METRE. 

Since the foregoing Essay was first printed, 
the Editor hath met with some additional 
examples of the old alliterative metre. 

The first is in MS.,f which begins thus : 

* BoU. Sat. 11. 

f In a small 4to. MS. containing 38 leaves, in private 
hands. 



Crist Crowned iTyng, that on Cros didest,* 
And art Comfort of all Care, thow,f kind go 

out of Cours 
With thi iZalwes in Seven ZTeried mote thu 

be, 
And thy TPbrshipful I'Perkes IPbrshiped evre, 
That suche Sondry Signes Shewest unto 

man, 
In Dremyng, in J>recchyng,J and in Derke 

swevenes. 

The author from this proemium takes occa- 
sion to give an account of a dream that hap- 
pened to himself; which he introduces with 
the following circumstances : 

Ones y me Crdayned, as y have Cfte doon, 
With .Frendes, and jPelawes, .Frendemen, and 

other ; 
And Caught me in a Company on Corpus 

Christi even, 
Six, other? Seven myle, out of Southampton, 
To take ilfelodye, and JLfirthes, lamong my 

JLfakes ; 
With i?edyng of Romavnces, and itevelyng 

among, 
The .Dym of the Derknesse Drewe me into 

the west ; 
And be Con for to spryng in the Crey day. 
Than .Lift up my Zyddes, and Loked in the 

sky, 
And iTnewe by the Kexx&e Cours, hit clered 

in the est: 
.Blyve y .Busked me down, and to .Bed went, 
For to Comforte my iTynde, and Cacche a 

slepe. 

He then describes his dream : 

Methought that y iZoved on Sigh on an Sill, 
And loked Doun on a Sale Sepest of othre ; 
Ther y Sawe in my Sighte a Selcouthe peple ; 
The ilfultitude was so Moche, it ifighte not 

be nombred. 
Methoughte y herd a Crowned .fiyng, of his 

Comunes axe 

A £oleyne|| Subsidie, to Susteyne his werres. 
* * * • * * 

With that a Clerk iTneled adowne and Carped 

these wordes, 
.Liege .Lord; yif it you .Like to .Listen a 

while, 
Som Sawes of Salomon y shall you shewe 

sone. 



* Didst dye. f though. 

2 i. e. either, or. 

3 Solemn. 



% being overpowered. 



ON ALLITERATIVE METRE. 



271 



The writer then gives a solemn lecture to 
kings on the art of governing. From the 
demand of subsidies "to susteyne his werres," 
I am inclined to believe this poem composed 
in the reign of King Henry V., as the MS. 
appears from a subsequent entry to have 
been written before the 9 th of Henry VI. 
The whole poem contains but 146 lines. 

The alliterative metre was no less popular 
among the old Scottish poets, than with their 
brethren on this side the Tweed. In Mait- 
land's Collection of ancient Scottish Poems, 
MS. in the Pepysian library, is a very long 
poem in this species of versification, thus in- 
scribed : 

Heir begins the Tretis of the Twa Marriit 
Wemen, and theWedo, compylit be Maister 
William Dunbar.* 

" Upon the Midsummer evven M irriest of 

nichtis 
I J/uvit furth alane quhen as iWidnight was 

past 
Besyd ane Gudlie Gyrene Garth, f full of Gay 

flouris 
-HegeitJ of ane .Huge iTicht with .Hawthorne 

treeis 
Quairon ane .Bird on ane Pransehe so Pirst 

out hir notis 
That nevir ane Blythfuller .Bird was on the 

Benche§ hard, &c." 

The author pretends to overhear three 
gossips sitting in an arbour, and revealing 
all their secret methods of alluring and 
governing the other sex ; it is a severe and 
humorous satire on bad women, and nothing 
inferior to " Chaucer's Prologue to his Wife 
of Bath's Tale." As Dunbar lived till about 
the middle of the sixteenth century, this poem 
was probably composed after " Scottish Field" 
(described above in p. 268), which is the 
latest specimen I have met with written in 
England. This poem contains about five 
hundred lines. 

But the current use of the Alliterative 
Metre in Scotland, appears more particularly 
from those popular vulgar prophecies, which 



* Since the above was written, this poem hath been 
printed in " Ancient Scottish Poems, &c, from the MS. col- 
lections of Sir R. Maitland, of Lethington, knight of London, 
1786," 2 vols. 12mo. The two first lines are here corrected 
by that edition. 

t Garden. % Hedged. J Bough. 

35 



are still printed for the use of the lower peo- 
ple in Scotland, under the names of "Thomas 
the Rymer," "Marvellous Merling," &c. 
This collection seems to have been put 
together after the accession of James I. to 
the crown of England, and most of the pieces 
in it are in the metre of " Pierce Plowman's 
Visions." The first of them begins thus : 

" Merling sayes in his book, who will Pead 

Pight, 
Although his Sayings be uncouth, they Shall 

be true found, 
In the seventh chapter, read IThoso Will, 
One thousand and more after Christ's birth, 

&c." 

And the " Prophesie of Beid:" 

" Betwixt the chief of Summer and the Sad 

winter ; 
Before the Peat of summer Pappen shall a 

war 
That Purop's lands Earnestly shall be 

wrought 
And Earnest .Envy shall last but a while, &c." 

So again the " Prophesie of Berlington :" 

"When the Puby is Raised, Pest is there 

none, 
But much Pancour shall Pise in .River and 

plain, 
Much Sorrow is Seen through a Suth-hound 
That beares Pornes in his Pead like a wyld 

.Hart, &c." 

In like metre is the " Prophesie of Waldhave:" 

" Upon Zowdon iaw alone as I iay, 
iooking to the Zennox, as me iief thought, 
The first horning of .A/ay, Jfedicine to seek 
For il/alice and i/elody that J/bved me sore, 

&c." 

And lastly, that entitled " The Prophesie of 
Gildas :" 

" When holy kirk is PFracked and Will has 

no Wit 
And Pastors are Pluckt, and Pil'd without 

Pity 
When idolatry is 7n ens and re 
And spiritual pastours are vexed away, &c." 



It will be observed in the foregoing speci- 
mens, that the alliteration is extremely 
neglected, except in the third and fourth 
instances ; although all the rest are written 
in imitation of the cadence used in this kind 
of metre. It may perhaps appear from an 
attentive perusal, that the poems ascribed to 
Burlington and Waldhave are more ancient 
than the others : indeed the first and fifth ap- 
pear evidently to have been new modelled, if 
not entirely composed about the beginning 
of the last century, and are probably the 
latest attempts ever made in this species of 
verse. 

In this and the foregoing Essay are men- 
tioned all the specimens I have met with of 
the Alliterative Metre without rhyme: but 
instances occur sometimes in old manuscripts, 
of poems written both with final rhymes in 
the internal cadence and alliterations of the 
Metre of Pierce Plowman. 

The following song, entitled "The Com- 
plaint of Conscience," is printed from the 
Editor's folio manuscript : some corruptions 
in the old copy are here corrected ; but with 
notice to the reader wherever it was judged 
necessary, by enclosing the corrections be- 
tween inverted 'commas.' 

As I walked of late by ' an' wood side, 
To God for to meditate was my en tent ; 
Where under a hawthorne I suddenlye spyed 
A silly poore creature ragged and rent, 
With bloody teares his face was besprent, 5 
His fleshe and his color consumed away, 
And his garments they were all mire, 
mucke, and clay. 

This made me muse, and much ' to' desire 
To know what kind of man hee shold bee ; 
I stept to him straight, and did him require 
His name and his secretts to shew unto mee. 
His head he cast up, and wooful was hee, 12 
My name, quoth he, is the cause of my 

care, 
And makes me scorned, and left here so 
bare. 

Then straightway he turned him, and prayd 

' me' sit downe, 
And I will, saithe he, declare my whole 

greefe ; 16 



My name is called "Conscience :" — whereatt 

he did frowne, 
He pined to repeat it, and grinded his teethe, 
' Though now, silly wretche, I'm denyed all 
releef,' 
1 Yet' while I was young, and tender of 
yeeres, 20 

I was entertained with kinges, and with 
peeres. 

There was none in the court that lived in 
such fame, 

For with the kings councell ' I' sate in com- 
mission ; 

Dukes, earlcs, and barrons esteem'd of my 
name ; 

And how that I liv'd there needs no repeti- 
tion : 25 

I was ever holden in honest condition, 

For howsoever the lawes went in West- 
minster-hall, 
When sentence was given, for me they wold 
call. 

No incomes at all the landlords wold take, 
But one pore peny, that was their fine ; 30 
And that they acknowledged to be for my 

sake. 
The poore -wold doe nothing without councell 

mine: 
I ruled the world with the right line : 

For nothing was passed betweene foe and 

friend, 
But Conscience was called to bee at ' the' 

end. 35 

Noe bargaines, nor merchandize merchants 

wold make 
But I was called a wittenesse therto : 
No use for noe money, nor forfett wold take, 
But I wold controule them, if that they did 
soe : 39 

' And' that makes me live now in great woe. 
For then came in Pride, Sathan's disciple, 
That is now entertained with all kind of 
people. 

He brought with him three, whose names 
' thus they call' 

That is Covetousnes, Lecherye, Usury, be- 
side : 



Ver. 1, one, MS. V. 15, him, MS. 



Ver. 19, not in MS. V. 23, he sate, MS. V. 35, an end. 
MS. V. 43, they be these, MS. 



THE COMPLAINT OF CONSCIENCE. 



273 



They never prevail'd, till they had wrought 

my downe-fall ; 45 

Soe Pride was entertained, hut Conscience 

decried, 
And ' now ever since' ahroad have I tryed 
To have had entertainment with some one 

or other ; 
But I am rejected, and scorned of my 
brother. 

Then went I to the court the gallants to winn, 
But the porter kept me out of the gate : 51 
To Bartlemew Spittle to pray for my sinne, 
They bade me goe packe, it was fitt for my 

state ; 

Goe, goe, threed-bare Conscience, and seeke 

thee a mate. 

Good Lord, long preserve my king, prince, 

and queene, 55 

"With whom evermore I esteemed have been. 

Then went I to London, where once I did 
' dwell :' 

But they bade away with me, when they 
knew my name ; 

For he will undoe us to bye and to sell ! 59 

They bade me goe packe me, and hye me for 
shame: 

They lought at my raggs, and there had 
good game ; 
This is old threed-bare Conscience, that 

dwelt with saint Peter ; 
But they wold not admitt me to be a chim- 
ney-sweeper. 

Not one wold receive me, the Lord ' he' doth 

know ; 64 

I having but one poor pennye in my purse, 
On an awle and some patches I did it bestow; 
'For' I thought better cobble shooes than 

doe worse. 
Straight then all the coblers began for to 

curse, 
And by statute wold prove me a rogue, and 

forlorn e, 
And whipp me out of towne to ' seeke' 

where I was borne. 70 

Then did I remember, and call to my minde, 
The Court of Conscience where once I did sit: 
Not doubting but there I some favor shold 

find, 
For my name and the place agreed soe fit ; 

Ver. 46, was derided, MS. V. 53, packe me, MS. V. 57, 
wonne, MS. V. 70, see. 



But there of my purpose I fayled a whit, 75 
For ' thoughe' the judge us'd my name in 

everye ' commission,' 
The lawyers with their quillets wold get 

'my' dismission. 

Then Westminster-hall was noe place for me ; 
Good lord ! how the lawyers began to assemble, 
And fearfull they were, lest there I shold bee; 
The silly poore clarkes began for to tremble ; 
I showed them my cause, and did not dis- 
semble ; 
Soe they gave me some money my charges 

to beare, 
But swore me on a booke I must never 

come there. 

i 

Next the merchants said, Counterfeite, get 

thee away, 85 

Dost thou remember how wee thee fond ? 
We banisht thee the country beyond the salt 

sea, 
And sett thee on shore in the New-found.land ; 
And there thou and wee most friendly shook 

hand, 
And we were right glad when thou didst 

refuse us ; 90 

For when we wold reape profitt here thou 

woldst accuse us. 

Then had I noe way, but for to goe on 
To gentlemens houses of an ancyent name ; 
Declaring my greeffes, and there I made 

moane, 
1 Telling' how their forefathers held me in 

fame : 95 

And at letting their farmes ' how always I 

came.' 
They sayd, Fye upon thee ! we may thee 

curse: 
' Theire' leases continue, and we fare the 

worse. 

And then I was forced a begging to goe 
To husbandmens houses, who greeved right 
sore, 100 

And sware that their landlords had plagued 

them so, 
That they were not able to keepe open doore, 
Nor nothing had left to give to the poore : 
Therefore to this wood I doe me repayre, 
Where hepps and hawes, that is my best 
fare. 105 



V. 76, condition, MS. V. 77, get a, MS. V. 95, And how 

MS. V. 101, so sore, MS. 



274 



PLAIN TRUTH AND BLIND IGNORANCE. 



Yet within this same desert some comfort I 
have 

Of Mercy, of Pittye, and of Almes-deeds ; 

Who have vowed to company me to my grave. 

Wee are ' all' put to silence, and live upon 
weeds, 

' And hence such cold house-keeping pro- 
ceeds ;' 110 
Our banishment is its utter decay, 
The which the riche glutton will answer 
one day. 

Why then, I said to him, me-thinks it were 

best 
To goe to the clergie ; for dailye they preach 
Eche man to love you above all the rest ; 115 
Of Mercye, and Pittie, and Almes-' deeds', they 

teach. 



0, said he, noe matter of a pin what they 

preach, 
For their wives and their children soe 

hange them upon, 
That whosoever gives almes they will* 

give none. 

Then laid he him down, and turned him 
away, 120 

And prayd me to goe, and leave him to rest. 

I told him, I haplie might yet see the day 

For him and his fellowes to live with the best. 

First, said he, banish Pride, then all Eng- 
land were blest ; 
For then those wold love us, that now sell 
their land, 125 

And then good ' house-keeping wold revive' 
out of hand. 



II. 



)Mu tat| anii §Iinft Ipminie. 



This excellent old ballad is preserved in 
the little ancient miscellany, entitled, " The 
Garland of Good-will." Ignorance is here 
made to speak in the broad Somersetshire 
dialect. The scene we may suppose to be 
Glastonbury Abbey. 



God speed you, ancient father, 

And give you a good daye ; 
What is the cause, I praye you, 

So sadly here you staye ? 
And that you keep such gazing 5 

On this decayed place, 
The which, for superstition, 

Good princes down did raze ? 

IGNORANCE. 

Chill tell thee, by my vazen,* 
That zometimes che have knowne 10 

A vair and goodly abbey 

Stand here of bricke and stone ; 

Ver. 109, ill, MS. V. 110, not in MS. 

* i. e. feithen : as in the Midland counties they say 
housen, closen, for houses, closes. A. 



And many a holy vrier, 

As ich may say to thee, 
Within these goodly cloysters 15 

Che did full often zee. 



Then I must tell thee, father, 

In truthe and veritie, 
A sorte of greater hypocrites 

Thou couldst not likely see ; 20 

Deceiving of the simple 

With false and feigned lies : 
But such an order truly 

Christ never did devise. 

IGNORANCE. 

Ah ! ah ! che zmell thee now, man ; 25 
Che know well what thou art ; 

A vellow of mean learning, 
Thee was not worth a vart : 

Vor when we had the old lawe, 

A merry world was then ; 30 



Ver. 119, almes-deeds. V. 126, houses every where wold 
be kept, M3. 

* We ought in justice and truth to read "can." 



PLAIN TRUTH AND BLIND IGNORANCE. 



275 



And every thing was plenty 
Among all zorts of men. 

TRUTH. 

Thou givest me an answer, 

As did the Jewes sometimes 
Unto the prophet Jeremye, 35 

"When he accus'd their crimes : 
'Twas merry, sayd the people, 

And joyfull in our rea'me, 
When we did offer spice-cakes 

Unto the queen of heav'n. 40 

IGNORANCE. 

Chill tell thee what, good vellowe, 

Before the vriers went hence, 
A bushell of the best wheate 

Was zold vor vourteen pence ; 
And vorty egges a penny, 45 

That were both good and newe ; 
And this che zay my zelf have zeene, 

And yet ich am no Jewe. 

TRUTH. 

Within the sacred bible 

We find it written plain, 50 

The latter days should troublesome 

And dangerous be, certaine ; 
That we should be self-lovers, 

And charity wax colde ; 
Then 'tis not true religion 55 

That makes thee grief to holde. 

IGNORANCE. 

Chill tell thee my opinion plaine, 

And choul'd that well ye knewe, 
Ich care not for the bible booke ; 

Tis too big to be true. 60 

Our blessed ladyes psalter 

Zhall for my money goe ; 
Zuch pretty prayers, as there bee,* 

The bible cannot zhowe. 

TRUTH. 

Nowe hast thou spoken trulye, 65 

For in that book indeede 
No mention of our lady, 

Or Romish saint we read : 
For by the blessed Spirit 

That book indited was, 70 

And not by simple persons, 

As was the foolish masse. 



* Probably alluding to the illuminated psalters, missals, 



IGNORANCE. 

Cham zure they were not voolishe 

That made the masse, che trowe ; 
Why, man, 'tis all in Latine, 75 

And vools no Latine knowe. 
Were not our fathers wise men, 

And they did like it well ; 
Who very much rejoyced 

To heare the zacring bell ? 80 



But many kinges and prophets, 

As I may say to thee, 
Have wisht the light that you have, 

And could it never see : 
For what art thou the better 85 

A Latin song to heare, 
And understandest nothing, 

That they sing in the quiere ? 

IGNORANCE. 

O hold thy peace, che pray thee, 

The noise was passing trim 90 

To heare the vriers zinging, 

As we did enter in : 
And then to zee the rood-loft 

Zo bravely zet with zaints ; — 
But now to zee them wandring 95 

My heart with zorrow vaints. 



The Lord did give commandment, 

No image thou shouldst make, 
Nor that unto idolatry 

You should your self betake ; 100 
The golden calf of Israel 

Moses did therefore spoile ; 
And Baal's priests and temple 

Were brought to utter foile. 

IGNORANCE. 

But our lady of Walsinghame 105 

Was a pure and holy zaint, 
And many men in pilgrimage 

Did shew to her complaint. 
Yea with zweet Thomas Becket, 

And many other moe : 110 

The holy maid of Kent* likewise 

Did many wonders zhowe. 



* By name Eliz. Barton, executed April 21, 1534. 
p. 570. 



Stow, 



276 



THE WANDERING JEW. 



Such saints are well agreeing 

To your profession sure ; 
And to the men that made them 115 

So precious and so pure ; 
The one for being a traytoure, 

Met an untimely death ; 
The other eke for treason 

Did end her hateful breath. 120 

IGNORANCE. 

Yea, yea, it is no matter, 

Dispraise them how you wille : 
But zure they did much goodnesse ; 

Would they were with us stille ! 
We had our holy water, 125 

And holy bread likewise, 
And many holy reliques 

We zaw before our eyes. 



And all this while they fed you 

With vaine and empty showe, 130 
Which never Christ commanded, 

As learned doctors knowe : 
Search then the holy scriptures, 

And thou shalt plainly see 
That headlong to damnation 135 

They alway trained thee. 

IGNORANCE. 

If it be true, good vellowe, 

As thou dost zay to mee, 
Unto my heavenly fader 

Alone then will I flee : 140 

Believing in the Gospel, 

And passion of his Zon, 
And with the zubtil papistes 

Ich have for ever done. 



III. 



% \t Manuring !*to. 



The story of the Wandering Jew is of con- 
siderable antiquity: it had obtained full 
credit in this part of the world before the 
year 1228, as we learn from Matthew Paris. 
For in that year, it seems, there came an 
Armenian archbishop into England, to visit 
the shrines and reliques preserved in our 
churches ; who, being entertained at the 
monastery of St. Albans, was asked several 
questions relating to his country, &c. Among 
the rest a monk, who sat near him, inquired 
" if he had ever seen or heard of the famous 
person named Joseph, that was so much 
talked of; who was present at our Lord's 
crucifixion and conversed with him, and who 
was still alive in confirmation of the Christian 
faith." The archbishop answered, That the 
fact was true. And afterwards one of his 
train, who was well known to a servant of the 
abbot's, interpreting his master's words, told 
them in French, " That his lord knew the 
person they spoke of very well : that he had 
dined at his table but a little while before he 



left the East : that he had been Pontius Pi- 
late's porter, by nameCartaphilus ; who, when 
they were dragging Jesus out of the door of 
the Judgment-hall, struck him with his fist on 
the back, saying, 'Go faster, Jesus, go faster, 
why dost thou linger?' Upon which Jesus 
looked at him with a frown, and said, ' I 
indeed am going, but thou shalt tarry till I 
come.' Soon after he was converted, and 
baptized by the name of Joseph. He lives 
for ever, but at the end of every hundred 
years falls into an incurable illness, and at 
length into a fit or ecstasy, out of which when 
he recovers, he returns to the same state of 
youth he was in when Jesus suffered, being 
then about thirty years of age. He remem- 
bers all the circumstances of the death and 
resurrection of Christ, the saints that arose 
with him, the composing of the apostles' 
creed, their preaching, and dispersion ; and 
is himself a very grave and holy person." 
This is the substance of Matthew Paris's 
account, who was himself a monk of St. Al 



THE WANDERING JEW. 



277 



bans, and was living at the time when the 
Armenian archbishop made the above rela- 
tion. 

Since his time several impostors have ap- 
peared at intervals under the name and cha- 
racter of the "Wandering Jew;" whose 
several histories may be seen in Calmet's 
Dictionary of the Bible. See also the Turk- 
ish Spy, Vol. II., Book 3, Let. 1. The story 
that is copied in the following ballad is of 
one, who appeared at Hamburgh in 1547, and 
pretended he had been a Jewish shoemaker 
at the time of Christ's crucifixion. — The ballad 
however seems to be of a later date. It is 
preserved in black-letter in the Pepys collec- 
tion. 

When as in faire Jerusalem 

Our Saviour Christ did live, 
And for the sins of all the worlde 

His own deare life did give ; 
The wicked Jewes with scoffes and scornes 5 

Did dailye him molest, 
That never till he left his life, 

Our Saviour could not rest. 

When they had crown'd his head with thornes, 

And scourg'd him to disgrace, 10 

In scornfull sort they led him forthe 

Unto his dying place, 
Where thousand thousands in the streete 

Beheld him passe along, 
Yet not one gentle heart was there, 15 

That pityed this his wrong. 

Both old and young reviled him, 

As in the streete he wente, 
And nought he found but churlish tauntes, 

By every ones consente : 20 

His owne deare crosse he bore himselfe, 

A burthen far too great, 
Which made him in the streete to fainte, 

With blood and water sweat. 

Being weary thus, he sought for rest, 25 

To ease his burthened soule, 
Upon a stone ; the which a wretch 

Did churlishly controule ; 
And sayd, Awaye, thou King of Jewes, 

Thou shalt not rest thee here ; 30 

Pass on ; thy execution place 

Thou seest nowe draweth neare. 



And thereupon he thrust him thence ; 

At which our Saviour sayd, 
I sure will rest, but thou shalt walke, 35 

And have no journey stayed. 
With that this cursed shoemaker, 

For offering Christ this wrong, 
Left wife and children, house and all, 

And went from thence along. 40 

Where after he had seene the bloude 

Of Jesus Christ thus shod, 
And to the crosse his bodye nail'd, 

Awaye with speed he fled, 
Without returning backe againe 45 

Unto his dwelling place, 
And wandred up and downe the worlde, 

A runnagate most base. 

No resting could he finde at all, 

No ease, nor hearts content ; 50 

No house, nor home, nor biding place : 

But wandring forth he went 
From towne to towne in foreigne landes, 

With grieved conscience still, 
Repenting for the heinous guilt 55 

Of his fore-passed ill. 

Thus after some fewe ages past 

In wandring up and downe ; 
He much again desired to see 

Jerusalems renowne, 60 

But finding it all quite destroyd, 

He wandred thence with woe, 
Our Saviours wordes, which he had spoke, 

To verifie and showe. 

" I'll rest, sayd hee, but thou shalt walke," 

So doth this wandring Jew 66 

From place to place, but cannot rest 

For seeing countries newe ; 
Declaring still the power of him, 

Whereas he comes or goes, 70 

And of all things done in the east, 

Since Christ his death, he showes. 

The world he hath still compast round 

And seene those nations strange, 
That hearing of the name of Christ, 75 

Their idol gods doe change : 
To whom he hath told wondrous thinges 

Of time forepast, and gone, 
And to the princes of the worlde 

Declares his cause of moane : 80 



278 



THE LYE. 



Desiring still to be dissolv'd, 

And yeild his mortal breath ; 
But, if the Lord hath thus decreed, 

He shall not yet see death. 
For neither lookes he old nor young, 85 

But as he did those times, 
When Christ did suffer on the crosse 

For mortall sinners crimes. 

He hath past through many a foreigne place, 

Arabia, Egypt, Africa, 90 

Grecia, Syria, and great Thrace, 

And throughout all Hungaria, 
Where Paul and Peter preached Christ, 

Those blest apostles deare ; 
There he hath told our Saviours wordes, 95 

In countries far and neare. 

And lately in Bohemia, 

With many a German towne ; 
And now in Flanders, as tis thought, 

He wandreth up and downe : 100 

Where learned men with him conferre 

Of those his lingering dayes, 
And wonder much to heare him tell 

His journeyes, and his wayes. 



If people give this Jew an almes, 105 

The most that he will take 
Is not above a groat a time : 

Which he, for Jesus' sake, 
Will kindlye give unto the poore, 

And thereof make no spare, 110 

Affirming still that Jesus Christ 

Of him hath dailye care. 

He ne'er was seene to laugh nor smile, 

But weepe and make great moane ; 
Lamenting still his miseries, 115 

And dayes forepast and gone : 
If he heare any one blaspheme, 

Or take God's name in vaine, 
He telles them that they crucifie 

Their Saviour Christe againe. 120 

If you had seene his death, saith he, 

As these mine eyes have done, 
Ten thousand thousand times would yee 

His torments think upon : 
And suffer for his sake all paine 125 

Of torments, and all woes. 
These are his wordes and eke his life 

Whereas he comes or goes. 



IV. 



m fP> 



BY SIR WALTER RALEIGH, 



— Is found in a very scarce miscellany enti- 
tled " Davidson's Poems, or a poeticall Rap- 

sodie divided into sixe books The 4th 

impression newly corrected and augmented, 
and put into a forme more pleasing to the 
reader. Lond. 1621, 12mo." This poem is 
reported to have been written by its cele- 
brated author the night before his execution, 
Oct. 29, 1618. But this must be a mistake, 
for there were at least two editions of David- 
son's poems before that time, one in 1608,* 
the other in lOll.f So that unless this poem 
was an after-insertion in the 4th edit, it must 
have been written long before the death of 



* Catalogue of T. Rawlinson, 1727. 
t Catalogue of Sion coll. library. This ia either lost or 
mislaid. 



Sir Walter: perhaps it was composed soon 
after his condemnation in 1603. See Oldys's 
Life of Sir Walter Raleigh, p. 173, fol. 

Goe, soule, the bodies guest, 

Upon a thankelesse arrant ; 
Feare not to touche the best, 
The truth shall be thy warrant : 

Goe, since I needs must dye, 5 

And give the world the lye. 

Goe tell the court, it glowes 

And shines like rotten wood ; 
Goe tell the church it showes 

What's good, and doth no good : 1C 

If church and court reply, 
Then give them both the lye. 



VERSES BY KING JAMES I. 



279 



Tell potentates they live 

Acting by others actions ; 
Not lov'd unlesse they give, 15 

Not strong but by their factions ; 
If potentates reply, 
Give potentates the lye. 

Tell men of high condition, 

That rule affairs of state, 20 

Their purpose is ambition, 
Their practise onely hate ; 
And if they once reply, 
Then give them all the lye. 

Tell them that brave it most, 25 

They beg for more by spending, 
Who in their greatest cost 

Seek nothing but commending ; 
And if they make reply, 
Spare not to give the lye. 30 

Tell zeale, it lacks devotion ; 

Tell love, it is but lust ; 
Tell time, it is but motion ; 
Tell flesh, it is but dust ; 
And wish them not reply, 35 

For thou must give the lye. 

Tell age, it daily wasteth ; 

Tell honour, how it alters ; 
Tell beauty, how she blasteth ; 
Tell favour, how she falters ; 40 

And as they shall reply, 
Give each of them the lye. 

Tell wit, how much it wrangles 
In tickle points of nicenesse ; 



Tell wisedome, she entangles 45 

Herselfe in over-wisenesse ; 
And if they do reply, 
Straight give them both the lye. 

Tell physicke of her boldnesse ; 

Tell skill, it is pretension ; 50 

Tell charity of coldness ; 
Tell law, it is contention ; 
And as they yield reply, 
So give them still the lye. 

Tell fortune of her blindnesse ; 55 

Tell nature of decay ; 
Tell friendship of unkindnesse ; 
Tell justice of delay : 
And if they dare reply, 
Then give them all the lye. 60 

Tell arts, they have no soundnesse, 

But vary by esteeming ; 
Tell schooles, they want profoundnesse, 
And stand too much on seeming : 

If arts and schooles reply, 65 

Give arts and schooles the lye. 



Tell faith, it's fled the citie ; 

Tell how the countrey erreth ; 
Tell, manhood shakes off pitie ; 
Tell, vertue least pref erreth : 
And if they doe reply, 
Spare not to give the lye. 



70 



So, when thou hast, as I 

Commanded thee, done blabbing, 
Although to give the lye 

Deserves no less than stabbing, 
Yet stab at thee who will, 
No stab the soule can kill. 



75 



V. 



tas bg pug lamw 1. 



In the first edition of this book were in- 
serted, by way of specimen of his Majesty's 
poetic talents, some punning verses made on 
the disputations at Sterling; but it having 
been suggested to the Editor, that the king 
only gave the quibbling commendations in 
prose, and that some obsequious court-rhymer 
36 



put them into metre ;* it was thought proper 
to exchange them for two sonnets of King 
James's own composition. James was a 
great versifier, and therefore out of the mul- 
titude of his poems, we have here selected 



* See a folio, intituled, 
James." 



'The Musea welcome to King 



280 



KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY. 



two, which (to show our impartiality) are 
written in his host and his worst manner. 
The first would not dishonour any writer of 
that time ; the second is a most complete ex- 
ample of the Bathos. 

A SONNET ADDRESSED BY KING JAMES TO HIS SON 
PRINCE HENRY. 

From King James's Works in folio : where 
is also printed another called his Majesty's 
" own Sonnet ;" it would perhaps be too cruel 
to infer from thence that this was not his 
Majesty's own sonnet. 

God gives not kings the stile of Gods in vaine, 
For on his throne his scepter do they swey : 
And as their subjects ought them to obey, 

So kings should feare and serve their God 
againe. 

If then ye would enjoy a happie reigne, 5 
Observe the statutes of our heavenly King ; 
And from his law make all your laws to 
spring ; 

Since his lieutenant here ye should remaine. 

Rewarde the just, be stedfast, true, and 
plaine ; 
Represse the proud, maintayning aye the 

right ; 
Walke always so, as ever in His sight, 
Who guardes the godly, plaguing the pro- 
phane. 



And so ye shall in princely vertues shine, 
Resembling right your mightie King divine. 

A SONNET OCCASIONED BY THE BAD WEATHER 
WHICH HINDERED THE SPORTS AT NEW- 
MARKET, IN JANUARY, 1616. 

This is printed from Drummond of Haw- 
thornden's Works, folio : where also may be 
seen some verses of Lord Stirling's upon this 
sonnet, which concludes with the finest Anti- 
climax I remember to have seen. 

How cruelly these catives do conspire ! 

What loathsome love breeds such a baleful 
band 

Betwixt the cankred King of Creta land,* 
That melancholy old and angry sire, 

And him, who wont to quench debate and 

ire 5 

Among the Romans, when his ports were 

clos'd ?f 
But now his double face is still dispos'd, 
With Saturn's help, to freeze us at the fire. 

The earth ore-covered with a sheet of snow, 

Refuses food to fowl, to bird, and beast : 10 

The chilling cold lets every thing to grow, 

And surfeits cattle with a starving feast. 

Curst be that love and moughtj continue 

short, 
Which kills all creatures, and doth spoil 
our sport. 



VI. 



fling Pin an)* % Jtfolwt at fotata]|. 



The common popular ballad of " King 
John and the Abbot" seems to have been 
abridged and modernized about the time of 
James I., from one much older, entitled, 
" King John and the Bishop of Canterbury." 
The Editor's folio MS. contains a copy of this 
last, but in too corrupt a state to be reprinted ; 
it however afforded many lines worth reviv- 
ing, which will be found inserted in the ensu- 
ing stanzas. 

The archness of the following questions 
and answers hath been much admired by our 



old ballad-makers ; for besides the two copies 
above mentioned, there is extant another bal- 
lad on the same subject (but of no great anti- 
quity or merit), entitled, " King Olfrey and the 
Abbot."g Lastly, about the time of the civil 
wars, when the cry ran against the bishops, 
some puritan worked up the same story into 

* Saturn. f Janus. J i. e. may it. 

\ See the collection of Historical Ballads, 3 vols. 1727. 
Mr. Wise supposes Olfrey to be a corruption of Alfred, in 
his pamphlet concerning the White Horse in Berkshire, 
6,15. 



KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY. 



281 



a very doleful ditty, to a solemn tune, con- 
cerning " King Henry and a Bishop ;" with 
this stinging moral : 

" Unlearned men hard matters out can find, 
When learned bishops princes eyes do 
blind." 

The following is chiefly printed from an 
ancient black-letter copy, to "The tune of 
Derry down." 

An ancient story He tell you anon 

Of a notable prince, that was called King 

John ; 
And he ruled England with maine and with 

might, 
For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little 

right. 

And He tell you a story, a story so merrye, 5 
Concerning the Abbot of Canterburye ; 
How for his house-keeping, and high renowne, 
They rode poste for him to fair London towne. 

An hundred men, the king did heare say, 
The abbot kept in his house every day ; 10 
And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt, 
In velvet coates waited the abbot about. 

How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee, 
Thou keepest a farro better house than mee, 
And for thy house-keeping and high re- 
nowne, 15 
I feare thou work'st treason against my 
crown. 

My liege, quo' the abbot, I would it were 

knowne, 
I never spend nothing, but what is my owne ; 
And I trust, your grace will doe me no deere, 
For spending of my owne true-gotten geere. 

Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe, 
And now for the same thou needest must 

dye ; 22 

For except thou canst answer me questions 

three, 
Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodle. 

And first, quo' the king, when I'm in this 
stead, 25 

With my crowne of golde so faire on my 
head, 



Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe, 
Thou must tell me to one penny what I am 
worthe. 

Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt, 29 
How soone I may ride the whole world about. 
And at the third question thou must not 

shrink, 
But tell me here truly what I do think. 

0, these are hard questions for my shallow 

witt, 
Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet : 
But if you will give me but three weekes 

space, 35 

He do my endeavour to answer your grace. 

Now three weeks space to thee will I give, 
And that is the longest time thou hast to live ; 
For if thou dost not answer my questions 
three, 39 

Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee. 

Away rode the abbot all sad at that word, . 
And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford ; 
But never a doctor there was so wise, 
That could with his learning an answer 
devise. 44 

Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold, 
And he mett his shepheard a going to fold : 
How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome 

home ; 
What newes do you bring us from good King 

John ? 

" Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must 

give; 
That I have but three days more to live : 50 
For if I do not answer him questions three, 
My head will be smitten from my bodie. 

The first is to tell him there in that stead, 53 
With his crowne of golde so fair on his head, 
Among all his liege men so noble of birth, 
To within one penny of what he is worth. 

The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt, 
How soone he may ride this whole world 

about : 
And at the third question I must not shrinke, 
But tell him there truly what he does thinke." 



282 



KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY. 



Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never 
hear yet, 61 

That a fool he may learne a wise man witt ? 
Lend me horse, and serving men, and your 

apparel, 
And He ride to London to answer your quar- 
rel. 64 

Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee, 
I am like your lordship, as ever may bee : 
And if you will but lend me your gowne, 
There is none shall knowe us in fair London 
towne. 

Now horses, and serving-men thou shalt have, 
With sumptuous array most gallant and 

brave ; 70 

With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and 

cope, 
Fit to appear Tore our fader the pope. 

Now welcome, sire abbot, the king he did say, 
Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day ; 
For and if thou canst answer my questions 
three, 75 

Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee. 

And first, when thou seest me here in this 

stead, 
With my crowne of golde so fair on my head, 
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe, 
Tell me to one penny what I am worth. 80 

" For thirty pence our Saivour was sold 
Among the false Jewes, as I have bin told : 
And twenty-nine is the worth of thee, 
For I thinke, thou art one penny worser than 
hee." 84 



The king he laughed, and swore bySt.Bittel,* 
I did not think I had been worth so littel ! 
— Now secondly tell me, without any doubt, 
How soone I may ride this whole world about. 

" You must rise with the sun, and ride with 

the same, 
Until the next morning he riseth againe ; 90 
And then your grace need not make any 

doubt, 
But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about." 

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone, 
I did not think, it could be gone so soone ! 
— Now from the third question thou must not 

shrinke, 
But tell me here truly what I do thinke. 96 

" Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace 

merry : 
You thinke I'm the abbot of Canterbury ; 
But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may 

see, 
That am come to beg pardon for him and for 

mee." 100 

The king he laughed, and swore by the masse, 
He make thee lord abbot this day in his place ! 
" Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede, 
For alacke I can neither write, ne reade." 

Four nobles a week, then I will give thee, 
For this merry jest thou hast showne unto 

mee ; 106 

And tell the old abbot when thou comest 

home, 
Thou has brought him a pardon from good 

King John. *** 

* Meaning probably St. Botolpti. 



THE OLD AND YOUNG COURTIER 



283 



VII. 



tow gtar itaaliw. 



This little sonnet was written by Sir Henry 
Wotton, knight, on that amiable princess, 
Elizabeth daughter of James I. and wife of 
the Elector Palatine, who was chosen King 
of Bohemia, Sept. 5, 1619. The consequences 
of this fatal election are well known: Sir 
Henry Wotton, who in that and the following 
year was employed in several embassies in 
Germany on behalf of this unfortunate lady, 
seems to have had an uncommon attachment 
to her merit and fortunes, for he gave away 
a jewel worth a thousand pounds, that was 
presented to him by the emperor, "because it 
came from an enemy to his royal mistress 
the queen of Bohemia/'' See Biog. Britan. 

This song is printed from the Reliquiae 
Wottoniance, 1651, with some corrections 
from an old MS. copy. 

You meaner beauties of the night, 

That poorly satisfie our eies 
More by your number, than your light ; 



You common people of the skies, 

What are you when the moon shall rise ? 5 

Ye violets that first appeare, 
By your pure purple mantles known 

Like the proud virgins of the yeare, 
As if the spring were all your own ; 
What are you when the rose is blown ? 10 

Ye curious chaunters of the wood, 

That warble forth dame Nature's layes, 

Thinking your passions understood 

By your weak accents : what's your praise, 
When Philomell her voyce shall raise ? 15 

So when my mistris shal be seene 
In sweetnesse of her looks and minde ; 

By virtue first, then choyce a queen ; 
Tell me, if she was not design'd 
Th' eclypse and glory of her kind ? 20 



VIII. 



%\t ®Ifo n\ ftocj tarittr. 



This excellent old song, the subject of 
which is a comparison between the manners 
of the old gentry, as still subsisting in the 
times of Elizabeth, and the modern refine- 
ments affected by their sons in the reigns of 
her successors, is given, with corrections, 
from an ancient black-letter copy in the 
Pepys collection, compared with another 
printed among some miscellaneous " poems 
and songs" in a book entitled, "Le Prince 
d' Amour," 1660, 8vo. 



An old song made by an aged old pate, 
Of an old worshipful gentleman, who had a 
greate estate, 



That kept a brave old house at a bountiful 

rate, 
And an old porter to relieve the poor at his 
gate; 

Like an old courtier of the queen's, 
And the queen's old courtier. 

With an old lady, whose anger one word 



They every quarter paid their old servants 

their wages, 
And never knew what belong'd to coachmen, 

footmen, nor pages, 
But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats 

and badges ; 

Like an old courtier, &c. 



284 THE OLD AND YOUNG COURTIER. 


With an old study fill'd full of learned old 


Like a nourishing young gallant, newly come 


books, 


to his land, 


With an old reverend chaplain, you might 


Who keeps a brace of painted madams at his 


know him by his looks, 


command, 


With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the 


And takes up a thousand pound upon his 


hooks, 


father's land, 


And an old kitchen, that maintain'd half a 


And gets drunk in a tavern, till he can nei- 


dozen old cooks. 


ther go nor stand ; 


Like an old courtier, &c. 


Like a young courtier, &c. 


With an old hall, hung about with pikes, 


With a new-fangled lady, that is dainty, nice, 


guns, and bows, 


and spare, 


With old swords, and bucklers, that had borne 


Who never knew what belonged to good house- 


many shrewde blows. 


keeping, or care, 


And an old frize coat, to cover his worship's 


Who buyes gaudy-colored fans to play with 


trunk hose, 


wanton air, 


And a cup of old sherry, to comfort his cop- 


And seven or eight different dressings of other 


per nose ; 


women's hair ; 


Like an old courtier, &c. 


Like a young courtier, &c. 


With a good old fashion, when Christmasse 


With a new-fashion'd hall, built where the 


was come, 


old one stood, 


To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe 


Hung round with new pictures, that do the 


and drum, 


poor no good, 


With good chear enough to furnish every old 


With a fine marble chimney, wherein burns 


room, 


neither coal nor wood, 


And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and 


And a new smooth shovelboard, whereon no 


man dumb. 


victuals ne'er stood ; 


Like an old courtier, &c. 


Like a young courtier, &c. 


With an old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel 


With a new study, stuft full of pamphlets, 


of hounds, 


and plays, 


That never hawked, nor hunted, but in his 


And a new chaplain, that swears faster than 


own grounds, 


he prays, 


Who, like a wise man, kept himself within 


With a new buttery hatch, that opens once in 


his own bounds, 


four or five days, 


And when he dyed gave every child a thou- 


And a new French cook, to devise fine kick- 


sand good pounds ; 


shaws, and toys ; 


Like an old courtier, &c. 


Like a young courtier, &c. 


But to his eldest son his house and land he 


With a new fashion, when Christmas is draw- 


assign'd, 


ing on, 


Charging him in his will to keep the old 


On a new journey to London straight we all 


bountifull mind, 


must begone, 


To be good to his old tenants, and to his 


And leave none to keep house, but our new 


neighbours be kind : 


porter John, 


But in the ensuing ditty you shall hear how 


Who relieves the poor with a thump on the 


he was inclin'd ; 


back with a stone ; 


Like a young courtier of the king's, 


Like a young courtier, &c. 


And the king's young courtier. 





SIR JOHN SUCKLING'S CAMPAIGNE. 



285 



With a new gentleman-usher, whose carriage 

is compleat, 
"With a new coachman, footmen, and pages to 

carry up the meat. 
With a waiting-gentlewoman, whose dressing 

is very neat, 
Who when her lady has din'd, lets the servants 

not eat ; 

Like a young courtier, &c. 



With new titles of honour bought with his 

father's old gold, 
For which sundry of his ancestors old manors 

are sold ; 
And this is the course most of our new gal- 
lants hold, 
Which makes that good house-keeping is now 
grown so cold, 

Among the young courtiers of the 

king, 
Or the king's young courtiers. *#* 



IX. 



Sir fofytt StttMmg's tfmptpe. 



When the Scottish Covenanters rose up in 
arms, and advanced to the English borders in 
1639, many of the courtiers complimented 
the king by raising forces at their own ex- 
pense. Among these none were more distin- 
guished than the gallant Sir John Suckling, 
who raised a troop of horse, so richly accou- 
tred, that it cost him 12,0007. The like ex- 
pensive equipment of other parts of the 
army, made the king remark, that " the Scots 
would fight stoutly, if it were but for the 
Englishmen's fine cloaths." [Lloyd's Me- 
moirs.] When they came to action, the rug- 
ged Scots proved more than a match for the 
fine showy English : many of whom behaved 
remarkably ill, and among the rest this splen- 
did troop of Sir John Suckling's. 

This humorous pasquil has been generally 
supposed to have been written by Sir John, 
as a banter upon himself. Some of his con- 
temporaries, however, attributed it to Sir 
John Mennis, a wit of those times, among 
whose poems it is printed in a small poetical 
miscellany, entitled, "Musarum deliciae: or 
the Muses recreation, containing several 
pieces of poetique wit, 2d edition. — By Sir J. 
M. [Sir John Mennis] and Ja. S. [James 
Smith]. London, 1656, 12mo."— [See Wood's 
Athenge, II., 397, 418.] In that copy is sub- 
joined an additional stanza, which probably 
was written by this Sir John Mennis, viz.: 

" But now there is peace, he's return'd to 
increase 
His money, which lately he spent-a, 



But his lost honour must lye still in the 
dust; 
At Barwick away it went-a." 

Sir John he got him an ambling nag, 

To Scotland for to ride-a, 
With a hundred horse more, all his own he 
swore, 

To guard him on every side-a. 

No Errant-knight ever went to fight 5 

With halfe so gay a bravada, 
Had you seen but his look, you'ld have sworn 
on a book, 

Hee'ld have conquer'd a whole armada. 

The ladies ran all to the windows to see 
So gallant and warlike a sight-a, 10 

And as he pass'd by, they said with a sigh, 
Sir John, why will you go fight-a ? 

But he, like a cruel knight, spurr'd on ; 

His heart would not relent-a, 
For, till he came there, what had he to fear ? 

Or why should he repent-a ? 16 

The king (God bless him !) had singular 
hopes 
Of him and all his troop-a : 
The borderers they, as they met him on the 
way, 
For joy did hollow, and whoop-a. 20 



286 



TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON. 



None lik'd him so -well, as his own colonell, 
Who took hirn for John de Wert-a ; 

But when there were shows of gunning and 
blows, 
My gallant was nothing so pert-a. 

For when the Scots army came within sight, 
And all prepared to fight-a, 26 

He ran to his tent, they ask'd what he meant, 
He swore he must needs goe sh*te-a. 



The colonell sent for him back agen, 

To quarter him in the van-a, 30 

But Sir John did swear, he would not come 
there, 
To be kill'd the very first man-a. 

To cure his fear, he was sent to the reare, 
Some ten miles back, and more-a ; 

Where Sir John did play at trip and away, 
And ne'er saw the enemy more-a. 36 



f $lt\m from frita. 



This excellent sonnet, which possessed a 
high degree of fame among the old cavaliers, 
was written by Colonel Richard Lovelace, 
during his confinement in the gate-house 
Westminster : to which he was committed by 
the House of Commons, in April, 1642, for 
presenting a petition from the county of 
Kent, requesting them to restore the. king to 
his rights, and to settle the government. See 
Wood's Athense, Vol. II., p. 228, and Lysons's 
Environs of London, Vol. I., p. 109 ; where 
may be seen at large the affecting story of 
this elegant writer, who after having been 
distinguished for every gallant and polite ac- 
complishment, the pattern of his own sex, 
and the darling of the ladies, died in the low- 
est wretchedness, obscurity, and want, in 
1658. 

This song is printed from a scarce volume 
of his poems entitled, "Lucasta, 1649, 12mo.," 
collated with a copy in the Editor's folio MS. 

When love with unconfined wings 

Hovers within my gates, 
And my divine Althea brings 

To whisper at my grates ; 
When I lye tangled in her haire ; 5 

And fetter'd with her eye, 

Ver. 22, John de Wert was a German general of great 
reputation, and the terror of the French in the reign of 
Louis XIII. Hence his name became proverbial in France, 
where he was called De Yert. See Baylc's Dictionary. 



The birds that wanton in the aire, 
Know no such libertye. 

When flowing cups run swiftly round 

With no allaying Thames, 10 

Our carelesse heads with roses crown'd, 

Our hearts with loyal flames ; 
When thirsty griefe in wine we steepe, 

When healths and draughts goe free, 
Fishes, that tipple in the deepe, 15 

Know no such libertle. 

When, linnet-like, confined I 

With shriller note shall sing 
The mercye, sweetness, majestye, 

And glories of my king ; 20 

When I shall voyce aloud how good 

He is, how great should be, 
Th' enlarged windes, that curie the flood, 

Know no such libertle. 

Stone walls doe not a prison make, 25 

Nor iron barres a cage, 
Mindes, innocent, and quiet, take 

That for an hermitage : 
If I have freedom in my love, 

And in my soule am free, 30 

Angels alone, that soare above, 

Enjoy such libertle. 



Ver. 10, with woe-allaying themes, MS. Thames is used 
for water in general. 



THE DOWNFALL OF CHARING-CROSS. 



287 



XL 



%hj JfltonMl 0f Raring-toss. 



Charing-Cross. as it stood before the civil 
wars, "was one of those beautiful Gothic obelisks 
erected to conjugal affection by Edward I., 
who built such a one wherever the hearse of 
his beloved Eleanor rested in its way from 
Lincolnshire to Westminster. But neither 
its ornamental situation, the beauty of its 
structure, nor the noble design of its erection 
(which did honour to humanity), could pre- 
serve it from the merciless zeal of the times : 
For, in 1647, it was demolished by order of 
the House of Commons, as popish and super- 
stitious. This occasioned the following not 
unhumorous sarcasm which has been often 
printed among the popular sonnets of those 
times. 

The plot referred to in verse 17, was that 
entered into by Mr. Waller the poet, and 
others, with a view to reduce the city and 
tower to the service of the king ; for which 
two of them, Nathaniel Tomkins and Richard 
Chaloner, suffered death, July 5, 1643. Vid. 
Athen. Ox. II. 24. 

Undone, undone the lawyers are, 

They wander about the towne, 
Nor can find the way to Westminster, 

Now Charing-cross is downe : 
At the end of the Strand, they make a stand, 

Swearing they are at a loss, 6 

And chaffing say, that's not the way, 

They must go by Charing-cross. 



The parliament to vote it down 

Conceived it very fitting, 
For fear it should fall, and kill them all, 

In the house, as they were sitting. 
They were told, god-wot, it had a plot, 

Which made them so hard-hearted, 
To give command, it should not stand, 

But be taken down and carted. 



10 



15 



Men talk of plots, this might have been worse 

For anything I know, 
Than that Tomkins, and Chaloner 

Were hang'd for long agoe. 20 

Our parliament did that prevent, 

And wisely them defended, 
37 



For plots they will discover still 
Before they were intended. 

But neither man, woman, nor child, 25 

Will say, I'm confident, 
They ever heard it speak one word 

Against the parliament. 
An informer swore, it letters bore, 

Or else it had been freed ; 30 

I'll take, in troth, my Bible oath, 

It could neither write, nor read. 

The committee said, that verily 

To popery it was bent ; 
For ought I know it might be so, 35 

For to church it never went. 
What with excise, and such device, 

The kingdom doth begin 
To think you'll leave them ne'er a cross, 

Without doors nor within. 40 

Methinks the common-council shou'd 

Of it have taken pity, 
'Cause, good old cross, it always stood 

So firmly to the city. 
Since crosses you so much disdain, 45 

Faith, if I were as you, 
For feare the king should rule again, 

I'd pull down Tyburn too. 

*** Whitelocke says, "May 3, 1643, Cheap- 
side-cross and other crosses were voted down," 
&c. — But this vote was not put in execution 
with regard to " Charing-Cross," till four 
years after, as appears from Lilly's Observa- 
tions on the Life, &c, of King Charles, viz., 
" Charing-Cross, we know, was pulled down, 
1647, in June, July, and August. Part of 
the stones were converted to pave before 
Whitehall. I have seen knife-hafts made of 
some of the stones, which, being well polish- 
ed, looked like marble." Ed. 1715, p. 18, 
12mo. 

See an account of the pulling down Cheap- 
side Cross, in the Supplement to Gent. Mag. 
1764. 



288 



LOYALTY CONFINED. 



XII. 



Jffpltn totair. 



This excellent old song is preserved in Da- 
vid Lloyd's " Memoires of those that suffered 
in the cause of Charles I." London, 1668, 
fol. p. 96. He speaks of it as the composi- 
tion of a worthy personage, "who suffered 
deeply in those times, and was still living 
with no other reward than the conscience of 
having suffered. The author's name he has 
not mentioned, but, if tradition may be cre- 
dited, this song was written by Sir Roger 
L'Estrange.— Some mistakes in Lloyd's copy 
are corrected by two others, one in MS., the 
other in the "Westminster Drollery, or a 
choice Collection of Songs and Poems, 1671," 
12mo. 

Beat on, proud billows ; Boreas blow ; 

Swell, curled waves, high as Jove's roof; 
Your incivility doth show, 

That innocence is tempest proof; 
Though surly Nereus frown, my thoughts 
are calm ; 5 

Then strike, Affliction, for thy wounds are 
balm. 

That which the world miscaiis a jail, 

A private closet is to me : 
Whilst a good conscience is my bail, 
And innocence my liberty : 10 

Locks, bars, and solitude, together met, 
Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret. 

I, whilst I wisht to be retir'd, 

Into this private room was turn'd ; 
As if their wisdoms had conspir'd 15 

The salamander should be burn'd : 
Or like those sophists, that would drown a 

fish, 
I am constrain'd to suffer what I wish. 

The cynick loves his poverty ; 

The pelican her wilderness ; 20 

And 'tis the Indian's pride to be 
Naked on frozen Caucasus : 
Contentment cannot smart, Stoicks we see 
Make torments easie to their apathy. 

These manacles upon my arm 25 

I, as my mistress' favours, wear ; 



And for to keep my ancles warm, 
I have some iron shackles there: 
These walls are but my garrison ; this cell, 
Which men call jail, doth prove my citadel. 

I'm in the cabinet lockt up, 31 

Like some high-prized margarite, 
Or, like the great mogul or pope, 

Am cloyster'd up from publick sight : 
Retiredness is a piece of majesty, 35 

And thus, proud sultan, I'm as great as thee. 

Here sin for want of food must starve, 

Where tempting objects are not seen! 
And these strong walls do only serve 
To keep vice out, and keep me in : 40 
Malice of late's grown charitable sure, 
I'm not committed, but am kept secure. 

So he that struck at Jason's life,* 

Thinking t' have made his purpose sure, 
By a malicious friendly knife 45 

Did only wound him to a cure : 
Malice, I see, wants wit ; for what is meant 
Mischief, oft-times proves favour by th' event. 

When once my prince affliction hath, 

Prosperity doth treason seem ; 50 

And to make smooth so rough a path, 
I can learn patience from him : 
Now not to suffer shews no loyal heart, 
When kings want ease subjects must bear a 
part. 

What though I cannot see my king 55 

Neither in person nor in coin ; 
Yet contemplation is a thing 

That renders what I have not, mine : 
My king from me what adamant can part, 
Whom I do wear engraven on my heart ! 60 

Have you not seen the nightingale, 
A prisoner like, coopt in a cage. 
How doth she chaunt her wonted tale, 
In that her narrow hermitage ! 64 

Even then her charming melody doth prove, 
That all her bars are trees, her cage a grove. 

* See this remarkable story in Cicero de Nat. Deorum, 
Lib- 3, c. 28. Cic. de Offlc. Lib. I. c 30; see also Val. Max. 
1,8. 



VERSES BY KING CHARLES I. 



289 



I am that bird, whom they combine 

Thus to deprive of liberty ; 
But though they do my corps confine, 
Yet maugre hate, my soul is free : 70 
And though immur'd, yet can I chirp, and 

sing 
Disgrace to rebels, glory to my king. 



My soul is free, as ambient air, 

Although my baser part's immew'd, 
Whilst loyal thoughts do still repair 
T' accompany my solitude : 
Although rebellion do my body binde, 
My king alone can captivate my minde. 



75 



XIII. 



$ta bg fling €\mh% 



" This prince, like his father, did not con- 
fine himself to prose : Bishop Burnet has 
given us a pathetic elegy, said to be written 
by Charles in Carisbrook castle [in 1648]. 
The poetry is most uncouth and unharmo- 
nious, but there are strong thoughts in it, 
some good sense, and a strain of majestic 
piety." Mr. Walpole's Royal and Noble Au- 
thors, vol. I. 

It is in his " Memoirs of the Duke of Ha- 
milton," p. 379, that Burnet hath preserved 
this elegy, which he tells us he had from a 
gentleman who waited on the king at the 
time it was written, and copied it out from 
the original. It is there entitled, " Majesty 
in Misery : or an Imploration to the King 
of Kings." 

Hume hath remarked of these stanzas, 
" that the truth of the sentiment, rather than 
the elegance of the expression, renders them 
very pathetic." See his History, 1763, 4to. 
Vol. V. pp. 437, 442, which is no bad com- 
ment upon them. — These are almost the only 
verses known of Charles's composition. In- 
deed a little poem "On a Quite Conscience," 
printed in the Poetical Calender, 1763, vol. 
VIII., is attributed to King Charles I. ; be- 
ing reprinted from a thin 8vo., published by 
Nahum Tate, called " Miscellanea Sacra, or 
Poems on Divine and Moral Subjects." 

Great monarch of the world, from whose 

power springs 
The potency and power of kings, 
Record the royal woe my suffering sings ; 

And teach my tongue, that ever did confine 
Its faculties in truth's seraphick line, 5 

To track the treasons of thy foes and mine. 



Nature and law, by thy divine decree, 
(The only root of righteous royaltie) 
With this dim diadem invested me : 

With it, the sacred scepter, purple robe, 
The holy unction, and the royal globe : 
Yet am I levell'd with the life of Job. 



10 



The fiercest furies, that do daily tread 
Upon my grief, my grey discrowned head, 
Are those that owe my bounty for their bread. 

They raise a war, and christen it the cause, 16 
While sacrilegious hands have best applause, 
Plunder and murder are the kingdom's laws ; 

Tyranny bears the title of taxation, 
Revenge and robbery are reformation, 20 
Oppression gains the name of sequestration. 

My loyal subjects, who in this bad season 
Attend me (by the law of God and reason), 
They dare impeach and punish for high trea- 
son. 

Next at the clergy do their furies frown, 25 

Pious episcopacy must go down, 

They will destroy the crosier and the crown. 

Churchmen are chain'd, and schismaticks are 

freed, 
Mechanicks preach, and holy fathers bleed, 
The crown is crucified with the creed. 30 

The church of England doth all factions fos- 
ter, 
The pulpit is usurpt by each impostor, 
Extempore excludes the Paternoster. 

The Presbyter, and Independent seed 
Springs with broad blades. To make religion 

bleed 
Herod and Pontius Pilate are agreed. 36 



"200 



THE SALE OF REBELLIOUS HOUSEHOLD-STUFF. 



The corner stone's misplac'd by every pa- 

vier: 
With such a bloody method and behaviour 
Their ancestors did crucifie our Saviour. 

My royal consort, from whose fruitful womb 
So many princes legally have come, 41 

Is fore'd in pilgrimage to seek a tomb. 

Great Britain's heir is fore'd into France, 
Whilst on his father's head his foes advance : 
Poor child ! he weeps out his inheritance. 45 

With my own power my majesty they wound, 
In the king's name the king himself 'a un- 

crown'd ; 
So doth the dust destroy the diamond. 

With propositions daily they enchant 

My people's ears, such as do reason daunt, 50 

And the Almighty will not let me grant. 

They promise to erect my royal stem, 
To make me great, t' advance my diadem, 
If I will first fall down, and worship them ! 



But for refusal they devour my thrones, 55 
Distress my children, and destroy my bones ; 
I fear they'll force me to make bread of 
stones. 

My life they prize at such a slender rate, 
That in my absence they draw bills of hate, 
To prove the king a traytor to the state. 60 

Felons obtain more privilege than I, 
They are allowed to answer ere they die ; 
'Tis death for me to ask the reason, why. 

But sacred Saviour, with thy words I woo 
Thee to forgive, and not be bitter to 65 

Such, as thou know'st do not know what 
they do. 

For since they from their lord are so disjointed, 
As to contemn those edicts he appointed, 
How can they prize the power of his anointed ? 

Augment my patience, nullifie my hate, 70 
Preserve my issue, and inspire my mate ; 
Yet, though we perish, bless this church and 
stale. 



XIV 



%\t Mt flf SeMtas JSflusc|jflI&-SM. 



This sarcastic exultation of triumphant 
loyalty is printed from an old black-letter 
copy in the Pepys collection, corrected by 
two others, one of which is preserved in " A 
choice collection of 120 loyal songs, &c." 1684, 
12mo. — To the tune of Old Simon the king. 

Rebellion hath broken up house, 

And hath left me old lumber to sell ; 
Come hither, and take your choice, 

I'll promise to use you well : 
Will you buy the old speaker's chair? 5 

Which was warm and easie to sit in, 
And oft hath been clean'd I declare, 

When as it was fouler than fitting. 
Says old Simon the king, &c. 



Will you buy any bacon-flitches, 
The fattest, that ever were spent? 



10 



They're the sides of the old committees, 

Fed up in the long parliament. 
Here's a pair of bellows, and tongs, 

And for a small matter I'll sell ye 'urn ; 
They are made of the presbyters lungs, 16 

To blow up the coals of rebellion. 
Says old Simon, &c. 



I had thought to have given them once 

To some black-smith for his forge ; 
But now I have considered on't, 

They are consecrate to the church : 
So I'll give them unto some quire, 

They will make the big organs roar, 
And the little pipes to squeeke higher 

Than ever they could before. 
Says old Simon, &c. 



20 



25 



THE SALE OF REBELLIOUS HOUSEHOLD-STUFF. 



291 



Here's a couple of stools for sale, 

One's square, and t'other is round ; 
Betwixt them both the tail 30 

Of the Rump fell down to the ground. 
Will you buy the states council-table, 

Whieh was made of the good wain Scot ? 
The frame was a tottering Babel 

To uphold the Independent plot. 35 

Says old Simon, &c. 

Here's the beesom of Reformation, 

Which should have made clean the floor, 
But it swept the wealth out of the nation, 

And left us dirt good store. 40 

Will you buy the states spinning-wheel, 

Which spun for the roper's trade ? 
But better it had stood still, 

For now it has spun a fair thread. 

Says old Simon, &c. 45 

Here's a glyster-pipe well try'd, 

Which was made of a butcher's stump,* 
And has been safely apply'd, 

To cure the colds of the rump. 
Here's a lump of Pilgrim's-Salve, 50 

Which once was a justice of peace, 
Who Noll and the Devil did serve ; 

But now it is come to this. 
Says old Simon, &c. 

Here's a roll of the states tobacco, 55 

If any good fellow will take it ; 
No Virginia had e'er such a smack-o, 

And I'll tell you how they did make it : 
'Tis th' Engagement, and Covenant cookt 

Up with the Abjuration oath ; 60 

And many of them, that have tookt, 

Complain it was foul in the mouth. 
Says old Simon, &c. 



Yet the ashes may happily serve 
To cure the scab of the nation, 

Whene'er 't has an itch to swerve 
To Rebellion by innovation. 

A Lanthorn here is to be bought, 
The like was scarce ever gotten, 



65 



For many plots it has found out 
Before they ever were thought on. 
Says old Simon, &c. 



70 



* Alluding probably to Major-General Harrison, a 
butcher's son, who assisted Cromwell in turning out the 
Long Parliament, April 20, 1653. 



Will you buy the Rump's great saddle, 

With which it jocky'd the nation? 
And here is the bitt, and the bridle, 75 

And curb of Dissimulation : 
And here's the trunk-hose of the Rump, 

And their fair dissembling cloak, 
And a Presbyterian jump, 

With an Independent smock, 80 

Says old Simon, &c. 

Will you buy a Conscience oft turn'd, 

Which serv'd the high-court of justice, 
And stretch'd until England it mourn'd : 

But hell will buy that if the worst is. 85 
Here's Joan Cromwell's kitching-stuff tub, 

Wherein is the fat of the Rumpers, 
With which old Noll's horns she did rub, 

When he was got drunk with false bumpers. 
Says old Simon, &c. 90 

Here's the purse of the public faith ; 

Here's the model of the Sequestration, 
When the old wives upon their good troth, 

Lent thimbles to ruine the nation. 
Here's Dick Cromwell's Protectorship, 95 

And here are Lambert's commissions, 
And here is Hugh Peters his scrip 

Cramm'd with the tumultuous petitions. 
Says old Simon, &c. 

And here are old Noll's brewing vessels, 100 

And here are his dray, and his slings ; 
Here are Hewson's awl, and his bristles ; 

With diverse other odd things : 
And what is the price doth belong 

To all these matters before ye ? 105 

I'll sell them all for an old song, 

And so I do end my story. 
Says old Simon, &c. 



Ver. 86, This was a cant name given to Cromwell's wife 
by the Royalists, though her name was Elizabeth. She 
was taxed with exchanging the kitchen-stuff for the candles 
used in the Protector's household, 4c. See Gent. Mag. for 
March, 1788, p. 242. 

Ver. 94, See Grey's Hudibras, Pt. I. Cant. 2, ver. 570, 4c. 
V. 100, 102, Cromwell had in his younger years followed 
the brewing trade at Huntingdon. Col. Hewson is said to 
hare been originally a cobler. 



292 



THE BAFFLED KNIGHT, OR LADY'S POLICY. 



XV. 



%\t ggffltlr Jnu#, m fabg's iolinr. 



Given (with some corrections) from a MS. 
copy, and collated with two printed ones in 
Roman character in the Pepy collection. 

There was a knight was drunk with wine, 

A riding along the way, sir ; 
And there he met with a lady fine, 

Among the cocks of hay, sir. 

Shall you and I, lady faire, 5 

Among the grass lye down-a : 
And I will have a special care 

Of rumpling of your gowne-a. 

Upon the grass there is a dewe, 

Will spoil my damask gowne, sir : 10 

My gowne and kirtle they are newe, 

And cost me many a crowne, sir. 

I have a cloak of scarlet red, 
Upon the ground I'll throwe it ; 

Then, lady faire, come lay thy head ; 15 

We'll play, and none shall knowe it. 

yonder stands my steed so free 

Among the cocks of hay, sir ; 
And if the pinner should chance to see, 

He'll take my steed away, sir. 20 

Upon my finger I have a ring 

Its made of finest gold-a, 
And, lady, it thy steed shall bring 

Out of the pinner's fold-a. 

go with me to my father's hall ; 25 

Fair chambers there are three, sir ; 

And you shall have the best of all, 
Ami I'll your chamberlaine bee, sir. 

He mounted himself on his steed so tall, 
And her on her dapple gray, sir : 30 

And there they rode to her father's hall, 
Fast pricking along the way, sir. 

To her father's hall they arrived strait ; 
'Twas moated round about-a ; 



She slipped herself within the gate, 35 

And lockt the knight without-a. 

Here is a silver penny to spend, 

And take it for your pain, sir ; 
And two of my father's men I'll send 

To wait on you back again, sir. 40 

He from, his scabbard drew his brand, 
And wiped it upon his sleeve-a ! 

And cursed, he said, be every man, 
That will a maid believe-a ! 

She drew a bodkin from her haire, 45 

And whip'd it upon her gown-a ; 

And cursed be every maiden faire, 
That will with men lye down-a ! 

A herb there is, that lowly grows, 

And some do call it rue, sir : 50 

The smallest dunghill cock that crows, 
Would make a capon of you, sir. 

A flower there is, that shineth bright, 

Some call it mary-gold-a : 
He that wold not when he might, 55 

He shall not when he wold-a. 

The knight was riding another day, 
With cloak and hat and feather : 

He met again with that lady gay, 

Who was angling in the river. 60 

Now, lady faire, I've met with you, 

You shall no more escape me ; 
Remember, how not long agoe 

You falsely did intrap me. 

The lady blushed scarlet red, 65 

And trembled at the stranger : 
How shall I guard my maidenhead 

From this approaching danger ? 

He from his saddle down did light, 

In all his riche attyer ; 70 

And cryed, As I am a noble knight, 
I do thy charms admyer. 



THE BAFFLED KNIGHT, OR LADY'S POLICY. 



293 



He took the lady by the hand, 

Who seemingly consented ; 
And would no more disputing stand : 75 

She had a plot invented. 

Looke yonder, good sir knight, I pray, 

Methinks I now discover 
A riding upon his dapple gray, 

My former constant lover. 80 

On tip-toe peering stood the knight, 

Fast by the rivers brink-a ; 
The lady pusht with all her might: 

Sir knight, now swim or sink-a. 

O'er head and ears he plunged in, 85 

The bottom faire he sounded ; 
Then rising up, he cried amain, 

Help, helpe, or else I'm drownded ! 

Now, fare-you-well, sir knight, adieu ! 

You see what comes of fooling : 90 

That is the fittest place for you ; 

Your courage wanted cooling. 

Ere many days, in her fathers park, 

Just at the close of eve-a, 
Again she met with her angry sparke ; 95 

Which made this lady grieve-a.' 

False lady, here thou'rt in my powre, 
And no one now can hear thee : 

And thou shalt sorely rue the hour, 

That e'er thou dar'dst to jeer me. 100 

I pray, sir knight, be not so warm 

With a young silly maid-a : 
I vow and swear I thought no harm, 

'Twas a gentle jest I playd-a. 

A gentle jest, in soothe he cry'd, 105 

To tumble me in and leave me ! 

What if I had in the river dy'd ? 

That fetch will not deceive me. 

Once more I'll pardon thee this day, 

Tho' injured out of measure ; 110 

But thou prepare without delay 
To yield thee to my pleasure. 

Well then, if I must grant your suit, 
Yet think of your boots and spurs, six : 

Let me pull off both spur and boot, 115 

Or else you cannot stir, sir. 



He set him down upon the grass, 
And begg'd her kind assistance ; 

Now, smiling thought this lovely lass, 

I'll make you keep your distance. 120 

Then pulling off his boots half-way ; 

Sir knight, now I'm your betters : 
You shall not make of me your prey ; 

Sit there like a knave in fetters. 

The knight, when she had served him soe, 
He fretted, fum'd, and grumbled : 126 

For he could neither stand nor goe, 
But like a cripple tumbled. 

Farewell, sir knight, the clock strikes ten, 
Yet do not move nor stir, sir : 130 

I'll send you my father's serving men, 
To pull off your boots and spurs, sir. 

This merry jest you must excuse, 

You are but *i stingless nettle : 
You'd never have stood for boots or shoes, 

Had you been a man of mettle. 136 

All night in grievous rage he lay, 

Rolling upon the plain-a ; 
Next morning a shepherd past that way, 

Who set him right again-a. 140 

Then mounting upon his steed so tall, 

By hill and dale he swore-a : 
I'll ride at once to her father's hall ; 

She shall escape no more-a. 

I'll take her father by the beard, 145 

I'll challenge all her kindred ; 
Each dastard soul shall stand affeard ; 

My wrath shall no more be hindred. 

He rode unto her father's house, 

Which every side was moated : 150 

The lady heard his furious vows, 

And all his vengeance noted. 

Thought shee, sir knight, to quench your rage, 

Once more I will endeavour : 
This water shall your fury 'swage, 155 

Or else it shall burn for ever. 

Then faining penitence and feare, 

She did invite a parley : 
Sir knight, if you'll forgive me heare, 

Henceforth I'll love you dearly. 160 



294 



OLD TOM OF BEDLAM. 



But I have for my love prepar'd 
A shorter way and easier. 

Over the moate I've laid a plank 
Full seventeen feet in measure ; 

Then step a-cross to the other hank, 
And there we'll take our pleasure. 



My father he is now from home, 

And I am all alone, sir : 
Therefore a-cross the water come ; 

And I am all your own, sir. 

False maid, thou canst no more deceive ; 165 

I scorn the treacherous bait-a : 
If thou would'st have me thee believe, 

Now open me the gate-a. 

The bridge is drawn, the gate is barr'd, 
My father he has the keys, sir; 170 



m 



These words she had no sooner spoke, 
But strait he came tripping over: 

The plank was saw'd, it snapping broke ; 
And sous'd the unhappy lover. 180 



XVI. 



(It Irs £0 lalt? 



From* Sir John Suckling's Poems. This 
sprightly knight was born in 1613, and cut 
off by a fever about the 29th year of his age. 
See above, Song IX. of this book. 

Why so pale and wan, fond lover? 

Prethee, why so pale ? 
Will, when looking well can't move her, 

Looking ill prevail ? 

Prethee why so pale ? 5 



Why so dull and mute, young sinner ? 

Prethee, why so mute ? 
Will, when speaking well can't win her, 

Saying nothing doe't ? 

Prethee why so mute ? 10 

Quit, quit for shame ; this will not move, 

This cannot take her ; 
If of herself she will not love 

Nothing can make her, 

The devil take her ! 15 



XVII. 

fl0 %tm at gtirlsm. 

MAD SONG THE FIRST. 



It is worth attention, that the English have 
more songs and ballads on the subject of 
madness, than any of their neighbours. Whe- 
ther there be any truth in the insinuation, 
that we are more liable to this calamity than 
other nations, or that our native gloominess 
hath peculiarly recommended subjects of this 
cast to our writers ; we certainly do not find 
the same in the printed collections of French, 
Italian Songs, &c. 

Out of a much larger quantity, we have 
selected half a dozen " Mad Songs" for this 



work. The three first are originals in their 
respective kinds ; the merit of the three last 
is chiefly that of imitation. They were writ- 
ten at considerable intervals of time; but we 
have here grouped them together, that the 
reader may the better examine their compara- 
tive merits. He may consider them as so 
many trials of skill in a very peculiar sub- 
ject, as the contest of so many rivals to shoot 
in the bow of Ulysses. The two first were 
probably written about the beginning of the 
last century ; the third about the middle of 



OLD TOM OF BEDLAM. 



295 



it ; the fourth and sixth towards the end ; and 
the fifth within the eighteenth century. 

This is given from the Editor's folio MS. 
compared with two or three old printed 
copies. — With regard to the author of this old 
rhapsody, in Walton's Complete Angler, cap. 
3, is a song in praise of angling, which the 
author says was made at his request " by Mr. 
William Basse, one that has made the choice 
songs of the ' Hunter in his Career,' and of 
'Tom of Bedlam,' and many others of note," 
p. 84. See Sir John Hawkins's curious edition, 
8vo., of that excellent old book. 

Forth from my sad and darksome cell, 
Or from the deepe abysse of hell, 
Mad Tom is come into the world againe 
To see if he can cure his distempered braine. 

Feares and cares oppresse my soule ; 5 
Harke, howe the angrye Fureys houle ! 
Pluto laughes, and Proserpine is gladd 
To see poore naked Tom of Bedlam madd. 

Through the world I wander night and day 
To seeke my straggling senses, 10 

In an angry moode I mett old Time, 
With his pentarchye of tenses : 

When me be spyed, 

Away he hyed, 
For time will stay for no man : 15 

In vaine with cryes 

I rent the skyes, 
For pity is not common. 

Cold and comfortless I lye : 
Helpe, oh helpe ! or else I dye ! 20 

JIarke ! I heare Apollo's teame, 
The carman 'gins to whistle ; 



Chast Diana bends her bowe, 
The boare begins to bristle. 

Come, Vulcan, with tools and with tackles, 
To knocke off my troublesome shackles ; 26 
Bid Charles make ready his waine 
To fetch me my senses againe. 



Last night I heard the dog-star bark ; 
Mars met Venus in the darke ; 
Limping Vulcan het an iron barr, 
And furiouslye made at the god of war: 



30 



Mars with his weapon laid about, 
But Vulcan's temples had the gout, 34 

For his broad horns did so hang in his light, 
He could not see to aim his blows aright : 



Mercurye, the nimble post of heaven, 
Stood still to see the quarrell ; 

Gorrel-bellyed Bachus, gyant-like, 
Bestryd a strong-beere barrell. 



40 



To mee he dranke, 

I did him thanke, 
But I could get no cyder ; 

He dranke whole butts 

Till he burst his gutts, 
But mine were ne'er the wyder. 

Poore naked Tom is very drye : 
A little drinke for charitye ! 
Harke, I hear Acteon's home ! 

The huntsmen whoop and hallowe : 
Pvingwood, Koyster, Bowman, Jowler, 

All the chase do followe : 

The man in the moone drinkes clarret, 
Eates powder'd beef, turnip, and carret, 
But a cup of old Malaga sack 
Will fire the bushe at his backe. 



45 



50 



55 



38 



29G 



THE DISTRACTED PURITAN. 



XVIII. 



%\t iistauteft fttntan, 



MAD SONG THE SECOND, 



— Was written about the beginning of the 
seventeenth century by the witty bishop Cor- 
bet, and is printed from the third edition of 
his poems, 12mo. 1672, compared with a 
more ancient copy in the Editor's folio MS. 

Am I mad, noble Festus, 
When zeal and godly knowledge 
Have put me in hope 
To deal with the pope, 
As well as the best in the college ? 5 

Boldly I preach, hate a cross, hate a sur- 
plice, 
Mitres, copes, and rochets ; 
Come hear me pray nine times a day, 
And fill your heads with crochets. 

In the house of pure Emanuel* 10 

I had my education 

Where my friends surmise 

I dazel'd my eyes 
With the sight of revelation. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

They bound me like a bedlam, 15 

They lash'd my four poor quarters ; 

Whilst this I endure, 

Faith makes me sure 
To be one of Foxes martyrs. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

These injuries I suffer 20 

Through antichrist's perswasion : 

Take off this chain, 

Neither Rome nor Spain 
Can resist my strong invasion. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

Of the beast's ten horns (God bless us !) 25 
I have knock'd off three already ; 

If they let me alone 

I'll leave him none ; 
But they say I am too heady. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

* Emanuel College, Cambridge, was originally a seminary 
of Puritans. 



When I sack'd the seven-hill'd city, 30 

I met the great red dragon ; 

I kept him aloof 

With the armour of proof, 
Though here I have never a rag on. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

With a fiery sword and target, 35 

There fought I with this monster : 

But the sons of pride 

My zeal deride, 
And all my deeds misconster. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

I un-hors'd the Whore of Babel, 40 

With the lance of Inspiration ; 

I made her stink, 

And spill the drink 
In her cup of abomination. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

I have seen two in a vision 45 

With a flying book* between them. 

I have been in despair 

Five times in a year, 
And been cur'd by reading Greenham.f 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

I observ'd in Perkin's J tables 50 

The black line of damnation ; 

Those crooked veins 

So stuck in my brains, 
That I fear'd my reprobation. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

* Alluding to some visionary exposition of Zeeh. ch. v. 
ver. 1 ; or, if the date of this song would permit, one might 
suppose it aimed at one Coppe, a strange enthusiast, whose 
life may he seen in Wood's Athen. vol. II., p. 501. He was 
author of a hook, intituled, " The Fiery Flying Roll :" and 
afterwards published a Recantation, part of whose title is, 
"The Fiery Flying Roll's Wings dipt," &c. 

t See Greenham's Works, fol. 1605, particularly the tract 
intituled " A sweet Comfort for an Afflicted Conscience." 

J See Perkin's Works, fol. 1616, vol. I. p. 11 ; where is 
a large half sheet folded, containing "A survey, or table, 
declaring the order of the causes of salvation and damna- 
tion," &c, the pedigree of damnation being distinguished 
by a broad black zig-zag line. 



THE LUNATIC LOVER. 



297 



In the holy tongue of Canaan 55 

I plac'd my chiefest pleasure : 

Till I prick'd my foot 

With a Hebrew root, 
That I bled beyond all measure. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

I appear'd before the archbishop,* 60 

And all the high commission ; 



I gave him no grace, 
But told him to his face, 
That he favour'd superstition. 

Boldly I preach, hate a cross, hate a sur- 
plice, 65 
Mitres, copes, and rochets : 
Come hear me pray nine times a day, 
And fill your heads with crotchets. 



XIX. 



%\t SttttiUu f fllur, 



MAD SONG THE THIRD, 



—Is given from an old printed copy in the 
British Museum, compared with another in 
the Pepys collection ; both in black-letter. 

Grim king of the ghosts, make haste, 

And bring hither all your train ; 
See how the pale moon does waste, 

And just now is in the wane. 
Come, you night-hags, with all your charms, 

And revelling witches away, 6 

And hug me close in your arms ; 

To you my respects I'll pay. 

I'll court you, and think you fair, 

Since love does distract my brain : 10 

I'll go, I'll wedd the night-mare, 

And kiss her, and kiss her again : 
But if she preve peevish and proud, 

Then, a pise on her love ! let her go ; 
I'll seek me a winding shroud, 15 

And down to the shades below. 

A lunacy sad I endure, 

Since reason departs away ; 
I call to those hags for a cure, 

As knowing not what I say. 20 

The beauty, whom I do adore, 

Now slights me with scorn and disdain ; 
I never shall see her more : 

Ah ! how shall I bear my pain ! 



I ramble, and range about 

To find out my charming saint ; 

While she at my grief does flout, 
And smiles at my loud complaint. 

* Abp. Laud. 



25 



Distraction I see is my doom, 

Of this I am now too sure ; 30 

A rival is got in my room, 

While torments I do endure. 

Strange fancies do fill my head, 

While wandering in despair, 
I am to the desarts lead, 35 

Expecting to find her there. 
Methinks in a spangled cloud 

I see her enthroned on high ; 
Then to her I crie aloud, 

And labour to reach the sky. 40 

When thus I have raved awhile, 

And wearyed myself in vain, 
I lye on the barren soil, 

And bitterly do complain. 
Till slumber hath quieted me, 45 

In sorrow I sigh and weep ; 
The clouds are my canopy 

To cover me while I sleep. 

I dream that my charming fair 

Is then in my rival's bed, 50 

Whose tresses of golden hair 

Are on the fair pillow bespread. 
Then this doth my passion inflame, 

I start, and no longer can lie : 
Ah ! Sylvia, art thou not to blame 55 

To ruin a lover ? I cry. 

Grim king of the ghosts, be true, 

And hurry me hence away, 
My languishing life to you 

A tribute I freely pay. 60 

To the Elysian shades I post, 

In hopes to be freed from care, 
Where many a bleeding ghost 

Is hovering in the air. 



298 



THE DISTRACTED LOVER. 



XX. 



% f ah gistnttto toil) folic, 



MAD SONG THE FOURTH, 



— Was originally sung in one of Tom D'Ur- 
fey's comedies of Don Quixote, acted in 1694. 
and 1696 ; and probably composed by him- 
self. In the several stanzas, the author re- 
presents his pretty Mad-woman as, 1. sul- 
lenly mad ; 2. mirthfully mad : 3. melan- 
choly mad : 4. fantastically mad : and, 5. 
stark mad. Both this and Num. XXII. are 
printed from D'Urfey's " Pills to purge Me- 
lanchol " 1719, vol. 1. 

From rosie bowers, where sleeps the god of 
love, 

Hither ye little wanton cupids fly: 
Teach me in soft melodious strains to move 

With tender passion my heart's darling 

joy: 

Ah ! let the soul of musick tune my voice, 5 
To win dear Strephon, who my soul enjoys. 

Or, if more influencing 

Is to be brisk and airy, 
With a step and a bound, 
With a frisk from the ground, 10 

I'll trip like any fairy. 

As once on Ida dancing 
Were three celestial bodies : 

With an air, and a face, 

And a shape, and a grace, 15 

I'll charm, like beauty's goddess. 



Ah ! 'tis in vain ! 'tis all, 'tis all in vain ! 
Death and despair must end the fatal pain : 
Cold, cold despair, disguis'd like snow and 

rain, 
Falls on my breast ; bleak winds in tempests 

blow ; 20 

My veins all shiver, and my fingers glow : 
My pulse beats a dead march for lost repose, 
And to a solid lump of ice my poor fond heart 

is froze. 



Or say, ye powers, my peace to crown. 
Shall I thaw myself, and drown 

Among the foaming billows ? 
Increasing all with tears I shed, 

On beds of ooze, and crystal pillows, 
Lay down, lay down my lovesick head ? 



25 



30 



No, no, I'll strait run mad, mad, mad ; 

That soon my heart will warm ; 
When once the sense is fled, is fled, 

Love has no power to charm, 
Wild thro' the woods I'll fly, I'll fly, 

Robes, locks shall thus be tore ! 35 

A thousand, thousand times I'll dye 
Ere thus, thus in vain, — ere thus in vain 
adore. 



XXI. 



%\n gistnttM 3ter t 



MAD SONG THE FIFTH, 



— Was written by Henry Carey, a cele- 
brated composer of music in the beginning 
of the eighteenth century, and author of 
several little theatrical entertainments, which 
the reader may find enumerated in the " Com- 
panion to the Play-house," &c. The spright- 
liness of this songster's fancy could not pre- 



serve him from a very melancholy catastro- 
phe, which was effected by his own hand. 
In his Poems, 4to. Lond. 1729, may be seen 
another mad song of this author, beginning 
thus: 

" Gods, I can never this endure, 
Death alone must be my cure," &c. 



THE FRANTIC LADY. 



299 



I go to the Elysian shade, 

Where sorrow ne'er shall wound me ; 
"Where nothing shall my rest invade, 

But joy shall still surround me. 

I fly from Celia's cold disdain, 5 

From her disdain I fly ; 
She is the cause of all my pain, 

For her alone I die. 

Her eyes are brighter than the mid-day sun, 
When he but half his radiant course has run, 
When his meridian glories gaily shine, 11 
And gild all nature with a warmth divine. 

See yonder river's flowing tide, 

Which now so full appears ; 
Those streams, that do so swiftly glide, 15 

Are nothing but my tears. 

There I have wept till I could weep no more, 
And curst mine eyes, when they have wept 

their store : 
Then, like the clouds, that rob the azure 

main, 
I've drain'd the flood to weep it back again. 



Pity my pains, 21 

Ye gentle swains ! 
Cover me with ice and snow, 
I scorch, I burn, I flame, I glow ! 



Furies, tear me, 25 

Quickly bear me 
To the dismal shades below ! 

Where yelling, and howling, 

And grumbling, and growling, 
Strike the ear with horrid woe. 30 



Hissing snakes, 

Fiery lakes 
Would be a pleasure, and a cure : 

Not all the hells, 

Where Pluto dwells, 35 

Can give such pain as I endure. 

To some peaceful plain convey me, 

On a mossey carpet lay me, 

Fan me with ambrosial breeze, 

Let me die and so have ease ! 40 



XXII. 



tyt ixKutit fa&g. 



MAD SONG THE SIXTH. 



This, like Number XX., was originally 
sung in one of D'Urfey's Comedies of Don 
Quixote (first acted about the year 1694), and 
was probably composed by that popular song- 
ster, who died Feb. 26, 1723. 

This is printed in the " Hive, a Collection 
of Songs," 4 vols., 1721, 12mo., where may 
be found two or three other mad songs not 
admitted into these volumes. 

I burn, my brain consumes to ashes ! 
Each eye-ball too like lightning flashes ! 
Within my breast there glows a solid fire, 
Which in a thousand ages can't expire ! 

Blow, blow, the winds' great ruler ! 5 
Bring the Po, and the Ganges hither, 
'Tis sultry weather ; 



Pour them all on my soul, 
It will hiss like a coal, 
But be never the cooler. 



10 



'Twas pride hot as hell, 
That first made me rebell, 
From love's awful throne a curst angel I fell ; 
And mourn now my fate, 
Which myself did create: 15 

Fool, fool, that consider'd not when I was well! 

Adieu! ye vain transporting joys! 
Off ye vain fantastic toys ! 
That dress this face — this body — to 
allure ! 
Bring me daggers, poison, fire ! 20 
Since scorn is turn'd into desire. 
All hell feels not the rage, which I, poor I, 
endure. 



300 



LILLI BURLERO. 



XXIII. 



filli %Mltxtt. 



The following rhymes, slight and insignifi- 
cant as they may now seem, had once a more 
powerful effect than either the Philippics of 
Demosthenes or Cicero ; and contributed not 
a little towards the great revolution in 1688. 
Let us hear a contemporary writer. 

" A foolish ballad was made at that time, 
treating the Papists, and chiefly the Irish, 
in a very ridiculous manner, which had a 
burden said to be Irish words, ' Lero, lero, 
liliburlero,' that made an impression on the 
[king's] army, that cannot be imagined by 
those that saw it not. The whole army, and 
at last the people, both in city and country, 
were singing it perpetually. And perhaps 
never bad so slight a thing so great an 
effect." — Burnet. 

It was written, or at least republished, on 
the Earl of Tyrconnel's going a second time 
to Ireland in October, 1688. Perhaps it is 
unnecessary to mention, that General Richard 
Talbot, newly created Earl of Tyrconnel, had 
been nominated by King James II. to the 
lieutenancy of Ireland in 1686, on account 
of his being a furious papist, who had recom- 
mended himself to his bigoted master by his 
arbitrary treatment of the protestants in the 
preceding year, when only lieutenant-general, 
and whose subsequent conduct fully justified 
his expectations and their fears. The vio- 
lence of his administration may be seen in 
any of the histories of those times : particu- 
larly in Bishop King's " State of the Pro- 
testants in Ireland," 1691, 4to. 

Lilliburlero and Bullen-a-lah are said to 
have been the words of distinction used 
among the Irish Papists in their massacre 
of the Protestants in 1641. 



Ho ! broder Teague, dost hear de decree ? 

Lilli burlero, bullen-a-la, 
Dat we shall have a new deputie, 
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la. 

Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen 
a-la, 5 

Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen 
a-la. 



Ho ! by shaint Tyburn, it is de Talbote : 

Lilli, &c. 
And he will cut de Englishmen's troate. 

Lilli, &o. 10 

Dough by my shoul de English do praat, 

Lilli, &c. 
De law's on dare side, and Creish knows what. 

Lilli, &c. 

But if dispence do come from de pope, 15 

Lilli, &c. 
"We'll hang Magna Charta and dem in a rope. 

Lilli, &c. 

For de good Talbot is made a lord, 

Lilli, &c. 20 

And with brave lads is coming aboard : 
Lilli, &c. 

Who all in France have taken a sware, 

Lilli, &c. 
Dat dey will have no protestant heir. 25 

Lilli, &c. 

Ara ! but why does he stay behind ? 

Lilli, &c. 
Ho ! by my shoul J tis a protestant wind. 

Lilli, &c. 30 

But see de Tyrconnel is now come ashore, 

Lilli, &c. 
And we shall have commissions gillore. 

Lilli, &c. 

And he dat will not go to de mass, 35 

Lilli, &c. 
Shall be turn out, and look like an ass. 

Lilli, &c. 

Now, now de hereticks all go down, 

Lilli, &c. 40 

By Chrish and shaint Patrick, de nation's 
our own. 
Lilli, &c. 



Ver. 7, Ho by my shoul, al. e<L 



THE BRAES OF YARROW. 



301 



Dare was. an old prophesy found in a bog, 

Lilli, &c. 
" Ireland shall be rul'd by an ass and a dog." 

Lilli, &o. 46 

And now dis prophesy is come to pass, 
Lilli, &c. 

For Talbot's de dog, and Ja** is de ass. 
Lilli, &c. 

*#* The foregoing song is attributed to 



Lord Wharton in a small pamphlet, entitled 
" A true relation of the several facts and cir- 
cumstances of the intended riot and tumult 
on Queen Elizabeth's birth-day, &c," third 
edition, London, 1712, price 2d. — See p. 5, 
viz., "A late Viceroy [of Ireland], who has 
so often boasted himself upon his talent for 
mischief, invention, lying, and for making a 
certain Lilliburlero Song ; with which, if you 
will believe himself, he sung a deluded prince 
out of three kingdoms." 



XXIV. 



%\t %xm nl Urate, 



IN IMITATION OF THE ANCIENT SCOTS MANNER, 



Was written by William Hamilton, of 
Bangour, Esq., who died March 25, 1754, 
aged 50. It is printed from an elegant edi- 
tion of his Poems, published at Edinburgh, 
1760, 12mo. This song was written in imi- 
tation of an old Scottish ballad on a similar 
subject, with the same burden to each stanza. 

A. Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, 
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow, 

Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, 
And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow. 

B. Where gat ye that bonny bonny bride ? 5 
Where gat ye that winsome marrow ? 

A. I gat her where I dare na weil be seen, 
Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. 

Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny bride, 
Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow ; 

Nor let thy heart lament to leive, 11 

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. 

B. Why does she weep, thy bonny bonny 

bride? 
Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow ? 
And why dare ye nae mair weil be seen 15 
Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow ? 

A. Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, 
maun she weep, 
Lang maun she weep with dule and sor- 
row ; 

Ver. 43, What follows is not in some copies. 



And lang maun I nae mair weil be seen 19 
Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. 

For she has tint her luver, luver dear, 
Her luver dear, the cause of sorrow ; 

And I hae slain the comliest swain, 

That eir pu'd birks on the Braes of Yar- 
row. 

Why rins thy stream, Yarrow, Yarrow, 
reid ? 25 

Why on thy braes heard the voice of sor- 
row? 
And why yon melancholious weids 
Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow ? 

What's yonder floats on the rueful rueful 
flude ? 29 

What's yonder floats ? dule and sorrow ! 
'tis he the comely swain I slew 

Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow. 

Wash, wash his wounds, his wounds in 
tears, 

His wounds in tears with dule and sorrow; 
And wrap his limbs in mourning weids, 35 

And lay him on the Braes of Yarrow. 

Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad, 
Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow ; 

And weep around in waeful wise 

His hapless fate on the Braes of Yarrow. 



302 



THE BRAES OF YARROW. 



Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless shield, 
My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow, 

The fatal spear that pierc'd his breast, 
His comely breast on the Braes of Yarrow. 

Did I not warn thee, not to, not to lure ? 45 
And warn from fight? but to my sorrow 

Too rashly bauld a stronger arm 
Thou mett'st, and fell'st on the Braes of 
Yarrow. 

Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green 
grows the grass, 

Yellow on Yarrow's bank the gowan, 50 
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, 

Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan. 

Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet 
flows Tweed, 

As green its grass, its gowan as yellow, 
As sweet smells on its braes the birk, 55 

The apple frae its rocks as mellow. 

Fair was thy luve, fair fair indeed thy luve, 
In flow'ry bands thou didst him fetter ; 

Tho' he was fair, and weil beluv'd again 
Than me he never luv'd thee better. 60 

Busk ye, then busk, my bonny bonny bride, 
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow, 

Busk ye, and luve me on the banks of Tweed, 
And think nae mair on the Braes of Yar- 



C. How can I busk a bonny bonny bride ? 

How can I busk a winsome marrow? 66 
How luve him upon the banks of Tweed, 

That slew my luve on the Braes of Yar- 
row? 

Yarrow fields, may never never rain 
Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover, 70 

For there was basely slain my luve, 
My luve, as he had not been a lover. 

The boy put on his robes, his robes of green, 
His purple vest, 'twas my awn sewing: 

Ah ! wretched me ! I little, little kenn'd 75 
He was in these to meet his ruin. 

The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white 
steed, 

Unheedful of my dule and sorrow : 
But ere the toofall of the night 

He lay a corps on the Braes of Yarrow. 80 



Much I rejoyc'd that waeful waeful day ; 

I sang, my voice the woods returning : 
But lang e'er night the spear was flown, 

That slew my luve, and left me mourning. 

What can my barbarous barbarous father 
do, 8% 

But with his cruel rage pursue me ? 
My luver's blood is on thy spear, 

How canst thou, barbarous man, then wooe 
me? 

My happy sisters may be, may be proud 
With cruel and ungentle scoffin', 90 

May bid me seek on Yarrow's Braes 
My luver nailed in his coffin. 

My brother Douglas may upbraid, upbraid, 
And strive with threatning words to muve 
me: 

My luver's blood is on thy spear, 95 

How canst thou ever bid me luve thee ? 

Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of luve, 
With bridal sheets my body cover, 

Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door, 
Let in the expected husband lover. 100 

But who the expected husband husband is ? 

His hands, methinks, are bath'd in slaugh- 
ter : 
Ah me! what ghastly spectre's yon 

Comes in his pale shroud, bleeding after. 

Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down, 
O lay his cold head on my pillow ; 106 

Take aff, take aff these bridal weids, 

And crown my careful head with willow. 

Pale tho' thou art, yet best, yet best beluv'd, 
O could my warmth to life restore thee ! 

Yet lye all night between my breists, 111 
No youth lay ever there before thee. 

Pale, pale indeed, O luvely luvely youth ! 

Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter : 
And lye all night between my briests; 115 

No youth shall ever lye there after. 

A. Return, return, O mournful mournful 
bride, 

Return, and dry thy useless sorrow : 
Thy luver heeds none of thy sighs, 119 

lie lyes a corps in the Braes of Yarrow. 



ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST. 



303 



XXV. 



Jtotral jeer's (fi^ati, 



— Was a party song written by the inge- 
nious author of " Leonidas,"* on the taking 
of Porto Bello from the Spaniards by Admi- 
ral Vernon, Nov. 22, 1739.— The case of Ho- 
sier, which is here so pathetically represented, 
was briefly this. In April, 1726, that com- 
mander was sent with a strong fleet into the 
Spanish West-Indies, to block up the galleons 
in the ports of that country, or should they 
presume to come out, to seize and carry them 
into England : he accordingly arrived at the 
Bastimentos near Porto Bello, but being em- 
ployed rather to overawe than to attack the 
Spaniards, with whom it was probably not 
our interest to go to war, he continued long 
inactive on that station, to his own gi-eat re- 
gret. He afterwards removed to Carthagena, 
and remained cruising in these seas, till far 
the greater part of his men perished deplora- 
bly by the diseases of that unhealthy climate. 
This brave man, seeing his best officers and 
men thus daily swept away, his ships exposed 
to inevitable destruction, and himself made 
the sport of the enemy, is said to have died 
of a broken heart. Such is the account of 
Smollett, compared with that of other less 
partial writers. 

The following song is commonly accompa- 
nied with a Second Part, or Answer, which 
being of inferior merit, and apparently written 
by another hand, hath been rejected. 

As near Porto-Bello lying 

On the gently swelling flood, 
At midnight with streamers flying 

Our triumphant navy rode ; 
There while Vernon sate all-glorious 5 

From the Spaniards' late defeat : 
And his crews, with shouts victorious, 

Drank success to England's fleet : 

On a sudden shrilly sounding, 

Hideous yells and shrieks were heard ; 10 
Then each heart with fear confounding, 

A sad troop of ghosts appear'd, 



All in dreary hammocks shrouded, 
Which for winding-sheets they wore, 

And with looks by sorrow clouded 
Frowning on that hostile shore. 



15 



* An ingenious correspondent informs the Editor, that 
this Ballad hath been also attributed to the late Lord Bath. 

39 



On them gleam'd the moon's wan lustre, 

When the shade of Hosier brave 
His pale bands was seen to muster 

Rising from their watery grave. 20 

O'er the glimmering wave he hy'd him, 

Where the Burford* rear'd her sail, 
With three thousand ghosts beside him, 

And in groans did Vernon hail. 

Heed, oh heed our fatal story, 25 

I am Hosier's injur'd ghost, 
You who now have purchas'd glory 

At this place where I was lost ! 
Tho' in Porto-Bello's ruin 

You now triumph free from fears, 30 

When you think on our undoing, 

You will mix your joy with tears. 

See these mournful spectres sweeping 

Ghastly o'er this hated wave, 
Whose wan cheeks are stain'd with weeping ; 

These were English captains brave. 36 
Mark those numbers pale and horrid, 

Those were once my sailors bold ; 
Lo, each hangs his drooping forehead, 

While his dismal tale is told. 40 

I, by twenty sail attended, 

Did the Spanish town affright : 
Nothing then its wealth defended, 

But my orders not to fight. 
Oh ! that in this rolling ocean 45 

I had cast them with disdain, 
And obey'd my heart's warm motion 

To have quell'd the pride of Spain ! 

For resistance I could fear none, 

But with twenty ships had done, 50 

What thou, brave and happy Vernon, 

Hast achiev'd with six alone. 
Then the bastimentos never 

Had our foul dishonour seen, 
Nor the sea the sad receiver 55 

Of this gallant train had been. 

* Admiral Vernon's ship. 



304 



JEMMY DAWSON. 



Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying, 

And her galleons leading home, 
Though condemned for disobeying, 

I had met a traitor's doom, GO 

To have fallen, my country crying, 

He has play'd an English part, 
Had been better far than dying 

Of a griev'd and broken heart. 

Unrepining at thy glory, 65 

Thy successful arms we hail ; 
But remember our sad story, 

And let Hosier's wrongs prevail. 
Sent in this foul clime to languish, 

Think what thousands fell in vain, 70 
Wasted with disease and anguish, 

Not in glorious battle slain. 



Hence with all my train attending 

From their oozy tombs below, 
Thro' the hoary foam ascending, 75 

Here I feed my constant woe : 
Here the bastimentos viewing, 

We recal our shameful doom, 
And our plaintive cries renewing, 

Wander thro' the midnight gloom. 80 

O'er these waves for ever mourning 

Shall we roam depriv'd of rest, 
If to Britain's shores returning 

You neglect my just request ; 
After this proud foe subduing, 85 

When your patriot friends you see, 
Think on vengeance for my ruin, 

And for England sham'd in me. 



XXVI. 



emmg 5»tog0tt. 



James Dawson was one of the Manchester 
rebels who was hanged, drawn, and quartered, 
on Kennington-common, in the county of Sur- 
rey, July 30, 1746. This ballad is founded 
on a remarkable fact, which was reported to 
have happened at his execution. It was 
written by the late William Shenstone, Esq., 
soon after the event, and has been printed 
amongst his posthumous works, 2 vols. 8vo. 
It is here given from a MS. which contained 
some small variations from that printed copy. 

Come listen to my mournful tale, 
Ye tender hearts, and lovers dear ; 

Nor will you scorn to heave a sigh, 
Nor will you blush to shed a tear. 

And thou, dear Kitty, peerless maid, 5 

Do thou a pensive ear incline ; 
For thou canst weep at every woe, 

And pity every plaint, but mine. 

Young Dawson was a gallant youth, 

A brighter never trod the plain ; 10 

And well he lov'd one charming maid, 
And dearly was he lov'd again. 

One tender maid she lov'd him dear, 
Of gentle blood the damsel came, 

And faultless was her beauteous form, 15 
And spotless was her virgin fame. 



But curse on party's hateful strife, 
That led the faithful youth astray 

The day the rebel clans appear'd : 
O had he never seen that day ! 



20 



Their colours and their sash he wore, 
And in the fatal dress was found ; 

And now he must that death endure, 
Which gives the brave the keenest wound. 

How pale was then his true love's cheek 25 
When Jemmy's sentence reach'd her ear ! 

For never yet did Alpine snows 
So pale, nor yet so chill appear. 

With faltering voice she weeping said, 
Oh, Dawson, monarch of my heart, 30 

Think not thy death shall end our loves, 
For thou and I will never part. 

Yet might sweet mercy find a place, 
And bring relief to Jemmy's woes, 

O George, without a prayer for thee 35 

My orisons should never close. 

The gracious prince that gives him life 
Would crown a never-dying flame, 

And every tender babe I bore 

Should learn to lisp the giver's name. 40 



POEMS ON KING ARTHUR. 



305 



But though, dear youth, thou should'st be 
dragg'd 

To yonder ignominious tree, 
Thou shalt not want a faithful friend 

To share thy bitter fate with thee. 

then her mourning-coach was call'd, 45 
The sledge mov'd slowly on before ; 

Tho' borne in a triumphal car, 

She had not lov'd her favourite more. 

She followed him, prepar'd to view 
The terrible behests of law ; 50 

And the last scene of Jemmy's woes 
With calm and stedfast eye she saw. 

Distorted was that blooming face, 
"Which she had fondly lov'd so long: 

And stifled was that tuneful breath, 55 

Which in her praise had sweetly sung : 

And sever'd was that beauteous neck, 
Round which her arms had fondly clos'd : 

And mangled was that beauteous breast, 
On which her love-sick head repos'd : 60 



And ravish'd was that constant heart, 

She did to every heart prefer ; 
For though it could his king forget, 

'Twas true and loyal still to her. 

Amid those unrelenting flames 65 

She bore this constant heart to see ; 

But when 'twas moulder'd into dust, 
Now, now, she cried, I'll follow thee. 

My death, my death alone can show 

The pure and lasting love I bore : 70 

Accept, heaven, of woes like ours, 
And let us, let us weep no more. 

The dismal scene was o'er and past, 
The lover's mournful hearse retir'd ; 

The maid drew back her languid head, 75 
And sighing forth his name expir'd. 

Tho' justice ever must prevail, 
The tear my Kitty sheds is due ; 

For seldom shall she hear a tale 

So sad, so tender, and so true. 80 



THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK. 



SEMES THE THIKD. 
BOOK I. 



An ordinary song or ballad, that is the delight of the common people, cannot fail to please 
all such readers as are not unqualified for the entertainment by their affectation or their 
ignorance ; and the reason is plain, because the same paintings of nature which recommend 
it to the most ordinary reader will appear beautiful to the most refined. 

Addison, in Spectator, No. 70. 



f ots an f ing grtjjttr, fa. 



The third series being chiefly devoted to 
romantic subjects, may not be improperly in- 
troduced with a few slight strictures on the 
old metrical romances: a subject the more 
worthv attention, as it seems not to have been 



known to such as have written on the nature 
and origin of books of chivalry, that the first 
compositions of this kind were in verse, and 
usually sung to the harp. 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL 
ROMANCES, &c. 

I. The first attempts at composition among 
all barbarous nations are ever found to be 
poetry and song. The praises of their gods, 
and the achievements of their heroes, are 
usually chanted at their festival meetings. 
These are the first rudiments of history. It 
is in this manner that the savages of North 
America preserve the memory of past events ;* 
and the same method is known to have pre- 
vailed among our Saxon ancestors, before 
they quitted their German forests.f The 
ancient "Britons had their bards, and the 
Gothic nations their scalds or popular poets, X 
whose business it was to record the victories 
of their warriors, and the genealogies of their 
princes, in a kind of narrative songs, which 
were committed to memory, and delivered 
down from one reciter to another. So long 
as poetry continued a distinct profession, and 
while the bard or scald was a regular and 
stated officer in the prince's court, these men 
are thought to have performed the functions 
of the historian pretty faithfully ; for though 
their narrations would be apt to receive a 
good deal of embellishment, they are sup- 
posed to have had at the bottom so much of 
truth as to serve for the basis of more regular 
annals. At least succeeding historians have 
taken up with the relations of these rude men, 
and, for want of more authentic records, have 
agreed to allow them the credit of true his- 
tory.? 

After letters began to prevail, and history 
assumed a more stable form, by being com- 
mitted to plain simple prose; these songs of 
the scalds or bards began to be more amusing 
than useful. And in proportion as it became 
their business chiefly to entertain and delight, 
they gave more and more into embellishment, 
and set off their recitals with such marvellous 
fictions as were calculated to captivate gross 



* Vid. Lasiteau Mceurs des Sauvages, t. ii. Dr. Browne's 
Hist, of the Rise and Progress of Poetry. 

■(■ Germani celebrant carruinibus antiquis (quod unum 
apud illos memoriae et annalium genus est) Tuistonern, 
Ac. Tacit. Germ. c. 2. 

X Barth. Antiq. Dan. lib. i. cap. 10. — Wortuii Literatura 
Runica, ad finem. 

{S See " Northern Antiquities, or a Description of the 
Manners, Customs, Ac, of the ancient Danes and other 
northern Nations, translated from the French of M. Mallet," 
1770, 2 vol. 8vo. (vol. i. p. 49, &c.) 



and ignorant minds. Thus began stories of 
adventurers with giants and dragons, and 
witches and enchanters, and all the monstrous 
extravagances of wild imagination, unguided 
by judgment and uncorrected by art.* This 
seems to be the true origin of that species of 
romance which so long celebrated feats of 
chivalry, and which at first in metre, and 
afterwards in prose, was the entertainment 
of our ancestors, in common with their con- 
temporaries on the Continent, till the satire 
of Cervantes, or rather the increase of know- 
ledge and classical literature, drove them off 
the stage, to make room for a more refined 
species of fiction, under the name of French 
romances, copied from the Greek.f 

That our old romances of chivalry may be 
derived in a lineal descent from the ancient 
historical songs of the Gothic bards and 
scalds, will be shown below, and indeed 
appears the more evident, as many of those 
songs are still preserved in the north, which 
exhibit all the seeds of chivalry before it be- 
came a solemn institution. J " Chivalry, as 
a distinct military order, conferred in the 
way of investiture, and accompanied with the 
solemnity of an oath, and other ceremonies," 
was of later date, and sprung out of the feu- 
dal constitution, as an elegant writer has 
clearly shown.? But the ideas of chivalry 
prevailed long before in all the Gothic nations, 
and may be discovered as in embryo in the 
customs, manners, and opinions of every 
branch of that people. That fondness of 
going in quest of adventures, that spirit of 
challenging to single combat, and that re- 
spectful complaisance shown to the fair sex 
(so different fronvtfhe manners of the Greeks 
and Romans), all are of Gothic origin, and 
may be traced up to the earliest times among 
all the northern nations. ]| These existed 
long before the feudal ages, though they 
were called forth and strengthened in a pecu- 
liar manner under that constitution, and at 
length arrived to their full maturity in the 
times of the Crusades, so replete with roman- 
tic adventures.^ 

* Vid. infra, pp. 4, 5, Ac. 

+ Viz. Astraea, Cassandra, Clelia, Ac. 

% Mallet, vid. Northern Antiquities, vol. i. p.31S, Ac, vol. 
ii. p. 234, Ac 

\ Letters concerning Chivalry, 8vo. 1763. 

|| Mallet. 

\ The seeds of chivalry sprung up so naturally out of the 
original manners and opinions of the northern nations, 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 



307 



Even the common arbitrary fictions of ro- 
mance were (as is hinted above) most of them 
familiar to the ancient scalds of the north, 
long before the time of the crusades. They 
believed the existence of giants and dwarfs ;* 
they entertained opinions not unlike the more 
modern notion of fairies ;f they were strongly 
possessed with the belief of spells and en- 
chantment ;J and were fond of inventing 
combats with dragons and monsters. § 

The opinion therefore seems very untenable, 
which some learned and ingenious men have 
entertained, that the turn for chivalry, and 
the taste for that species of romantic fiction, 
were caught by the Spaniards from the Ara- 
bians or Moors after their invasion of Spain, 
and from the Spaniards transmitted to the 
bards of Armorica,|| and thus diffused through 

that it is not credible they arose so late as after the esta- 
blishment of the feudal system, much less the crusades. 
Nor again, that the romances of chivalry were transmitted 
to other nations, through the Spaniards, from the Moors 
and Arabians. Ilad this been the case, the first French 
Romances of chivalry would have been on Moorish or at 
least Spanish subjects : whereas the most ancient stories 
of this kind, whether in prose or verse, whether in Italian, 
French, English, &c, are chiefly on the subjects of Charle- 
magne, and the Paladins; or of our British Arthur, and 
his knights of the Round Table, &c, being evidently bor- 
rowed from the fabulous Chronicles of the supposed Arch- 
bishop Turpin, and of Jeffery of Monmouth. Not but 
some of the oldest and most popular French romances are 
also on Norman subjects, as Richard Sans-peur, Robert Le 
Diable, &c; whereas I do not recollect so much as one in 
which the scene is laid in Spain, much less among the 
Moors, or descriptive of Mahometan manners. Even in 
Amadis de Gaul, said to have been the first romance printed 
in Spain, the scene is laid in Gaul and Britain; and the 
manners are French : which plainly shows from what school 
this species of fabling was learnt and transmitted to the 
southern nations of Europe. 

* Mallet, North. Antiquities, vol. i. p. 36 ; vol. ii. passim 

t Olaus Verel. ad Hervarer Sa; a, pp. 44, 45. Hickes's 
Thesaur. vol. ii. p. 311. Northern Antiquities, vol. ii. 
passim. 

% Ibid. vol. i. pp. 69, 374, &c, vol. ii. p. 216, &c. 

\ Rollof 's Saga, cap. 35, &c. 

|| It is peculiarly unfortunate that such as maintain this 
opinion are obliged to take their first step from the Moorish 
provinces in Spain, without one intermediate resting-place, 
to Armorica or Bretagne, the province in France from them 
most remote, not more in situation than in the manners, 
habits, and language of its Welsh inhabitants, which are 
allowed to have been derived from this island, as must have 
been their traditions, songs, and fables; being doubtless 
all of Celtic original. See p. 3, of the " Dissertation on the 
Origin of Romantic Fiction in Europe," prefixed to Mr. 
Thos. Warton's History of English Poetry, vol. i. 1774, 4to. 
If any pen could have supported this darling hypothesis 
of Dr. Warburton, that of this ingenious critic would have 
effected it. But under the general term Oriental he seems 
to consider the ancient inhabitants of the north and south 
of Asia as having all the same manners, traditions, and 
fables; and because the secluded people of Arabia took the 
lead under the religion and empire of Mahomet, therefore 



Britain, France, Italy, Germany, and the 
north. For it seems utterly incredible that 
one rude people should adopt a peculiar taste 
and manner of writing or thinking from an- 
other, without borrowing at the same time 
any of their particular stories and fables, 
without appearing to know anything of their 
heroes, history, laws, and religion. When 
the Romans began to adopt and imitate the 
Grecian literature, they immediately natu- 
ralized all the Grecian fables, histories, and 
religious stories ; which became as familiar 
to the poets of Rome as of Greece itself. 
Whereas all the old writers of chivalry, and 
of that species of romance, whether in prose 
or verse, whether of the northern nations, or 
of Britain, France, and Italy, not excepting 
Spain itself,* appear utterly unacquainted 

everything must be derived from them to the northern 
Asiatics in the remotest ages, &c. With as much reason 
under the word Occidental, we might represent the early 
traditions and fables of the north and south of Europe to 
have been the same ; and that the Gothic mythology of 
Scandinavia or the Druidic or Celtic of Gaul and Britain, 
differed not from the classic of Greece and Borne. 

There is not room here for a full examination of the 
minuter arguments, or rather slight coincidences, by which 
our agreeable dissertator endeavours to maintain and defend 
this favourite opinion of Dr. W., who has been himself so 
completely confuted by Mr. Tyrwhitt. (See his notes on 
"Love's Labour Lost," &c.) But some of his positions it 
will be sufficient to mention : such as the referring the Gog 
and Magog, which our old Christian bards might have had 
from Scripture, to the Jaguiouge and Magiouge of the 
Arabians and Persians, &c, (p. 13.) — That " we may venture 
to affirm, that this [Geoffrey of Monmouth's] Chronicle, 
supposed to contain the ideas of the Welsh bards, entirely 
consists of Arabian inventions." (p. 13.) — And that, " as 
Geoffrey's History is the grand repository of the acts of 
Arthur, so a fabulous history, ascribed to Turpin, is the 
ground-work of all the chimerical legends which have been 
related concerning the conquests of Charlemagne and his 
twelve peers. Its subject is the expulsion of the Saracens 
from Spain ; and it is filled with fictions evidently con. 
genial to those which characterize Geoffrey's History." (p. 
17.) — That is, as he afterwards expresses it, " lavishly deco- 
rated by the Arabian fablers." (p. 58.) — We should hardly 
have expected that the Arabian fablers would have been 
lavish in decorating a history of their enemy ; but what is 
singular, as an instance and proof of this Arabian origin 
of the fictions of Turpin, a passage is quoted from his fourth 
chapter, which I shall beg leave to offer, as affording decisive 
evidence that they could not possibly be derived from a 
Mahometan source. Sc. "The Christians under Charle- 
magne are said to have found in Spain, a golden idol, or 
image of Mahomet, as high as a bird can fly. — It was framed 
by Mahomet himself of the purest metal, who, by his 
knowledge in necromancy, had sealed up within it a legion 
of diabolical spirits. It held in its hand a prodigious club ; 
and the Saracens had a prophetic tradition, that this club 
should fall from the hand of the image in that year when 
a certain king should be born in France," &c. Tid. p. 18, 
Note. 

* Tho little narrative songs on Morisco subjects, which 
the Spaniards have at present in great abundance, and 



308 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 



with whatever relates to the Mahometan 
nations. Thus with regard to their religion, 
they constantly represent them as worshipping 
idols, as paying adoration to a golden image 
of Mahomet, or else they confound them with 
the ancient Pagans, &c. And indeed, in all 
other respects they are so grossly ignorant 
of the customs, manners, and opinions of 
every branch of that people, especially of 
their heroes, champions, and local stories, as 
almost amounts to a demonstration that they 
did not imitate them in their songs or ro- 
mances : for as to dragons, serpents, necro- 
mancies, &c, why should these be thought 
only derived from the Moors in Spain so late 
as after the eighth century ? since notions of 
this kind appear too familiar to the northern 
scalds, and enter too deeply into all the 
northern mythology, to have been transmitted 
to the unlettered Scandinavians, from so dis- 
tant a country, at so late a period. If they 
may not be allowed to have brought these 
opinions with them in their original migra- 
tions from the north of Asia, they will be far 
more likely to have borrowed them from the 
Latin poets after the Roman conquests in 
Gaul, Britain, Germany, &c. For I believe 
one may challenge the maintainers of this 
opinion to produce any Arabian poem or 
history, that could possibly have been then 
known in Spain, which resembles the old 
Gothic romances of chivalry half so much as 
the Metamorphoses of Ovid. 

But we well know that the Scythian nations 
situate in the countries about Pontus, Colchis, 
and the Euxine Sea, were in all times infa- 
mous for their magic arts ; and as Odin and 
his followers are said to have come precisely 
from those parts of Asia, we can readily ac- 
count for the prevalence of fictions of this 
sort among the Gothic nations of the north, 
without fetching them from the Moors in 
Spain, who for many centuries after their 
irruption lived in a state of such constant 
hostility with the unsubdued Spanish Chris- 

which they call peculiarly romances (see Series I. Book iii. 
No. 16, <Sjc), have nothing in common with their proper 
romances (or histories) of chivalry; which they call Histo- 
riasde Cuvallerias : these are evidently imitations of the 
French, and show a great ignorance of Moorish manners : 
and with regard to the Morisco, or song-romances, they do 
not seem of very great antiquity : few of them appear, from 
their subjects, much earlier than the reduction of Granada, 
in the fifteenth century : from which period, I believe, may 
be plainly traced, among the Spanish writers, a more perfect 
knowledge of Moorish customs, &c. 



tians,whom they chiefly pent up in the moun- 
tains, as gave them no chance of learning 
their music, poetry, or stories ; and this, to- 
gether with the religious hatred of the latter 
for their cruel invaders, will account for the 
utter ignorance of the old Spanish romancers 
in whatever relates to the Mahometan nations, 
although so nearly their own neighbours. 

On the other hand, from the local customs 
and situations, from the known manners and 
opiniajfrj of the Gothic nations in the North, 
we e^n easily account for all the ideas of 
^chivalry, and its peculiar fictions.* For, not 
to mention their distinguished respect for 
the fair sex, so different from the manners 
of the Mahometan nations,! their national 
and domestic history so naturally assumes 
all the wonders of this species of fabling, 
that almost all their historical narratives 
appear regular romances. One might refer, 
in proof of this, to the old northern Sagas in 
general : but, to give a particular instance, 
it will be sufficient to produce the history of 
King Regner Lodbrog, a celebrated warrior 
and pirate, who reigned in Denmark about 
the year 800. £ This hero signalized his 
youth by an exploit of gallantry. A Swedish 
prince had a beautiful daughter, whom he 
intrusted (probably during some expedition) 
to the care of one of his officers, assigning a 
strong castle for their defence. The officer 
fell in love with his ward, and detained her 
in his castle, spite of all the efforts of her 
father. Upon this he published a proclama- 
tion, through all the neighbouring countries, 
that whoever would conquer the ravisher, and 
rescue the lady, should have her in marriage. 
Of all that undertook the adventure, Regner 
alone was so happy as to achieve it ; he deli- 
vered the fair captive, and obtained her for 
his prize. It happened that the name of this 
discourteous officer was Orme, which, in the 
Islandic language, signifies serpent: where- 
fore the Scalds, to give the more poetical turn 
to the adventure, represent the lady as de- 
tained from her father by a dreadful dragon, 
and that Regner slew the monster to set her 
at liberty. This fabulous account of the 
exploit is given in a poem still extant, which 
is even ascribed to Regner himself, who was 

* See Northern Antiquities, passim. 
t Ibid. 

X Saxon Gram. p. 152, 153.— Mallet, North. Antiq. vol. i. 
p. 321. 



ON THE ANCIENT METEICAL ROMANCES. 



309 



a celebrated poet, and which records all the 
valiant achievements of his life.* 

With marvellous embellishments of this 
kind, the scalds early began to decorate their 
narratives : and they were the more lavish 
of these in proportion as they departed from 
their original institution ; but it was a long 
time before they thought of delivering a set 
of personages and adventures wholly feigned. 
Of the great multitude of romantic tales still 
preserved in the libraries of the north, most 
of them are supposed to have had some 
foundation in truth ; and the more ancient 
they are, the more they are believed to be 
connected with true history .f 

It was not probably till after the historian 
and the bard had been long disunited, that 
the latter ventured at pure fiction. At length, 
when their business was no longer to instruct 
or inform, but merely to amuse, it was no 
longer needful for them to adhere to truth. 
Then succeeded fabulous songs and romances 
in verse, which for a long time prevailed in 
France and England, before they had books 
of chivalry in prose. Yet, in both these 
countries, the minstrels still retained so much 
of their original institution as frequently to 
make true events the subject of their songs ;| 
and, indeed, as during the barbarous ages, 
the regular histories were almost all written 
in Latin by the monks, the memory of events 
was preserved and propagated among the 
ignorant laity, by scarce any other means 
than the popular songs of the minstrels. 

II. The inhabitants of Sweden, Denmark, 
and Norway, being the latest converts to 
Christianity, retained their original manners 
and opinions longer than the other nations 
of Gothic race: and, therefore, they have 
preserved more of the genuine compositions 
of their ancient poets than their southern 
neighbours. Hence the progress among 
them, from poetical history to poetical fiction, 
is very discernible : they have some old 
pieces, that are in effect complete romances 
of chivalry. § They have also (as hath been 

* See a Translation of this poem among " Five Pieces of 
Runic Poetry," printed for Dodsley, 1764, 8vo. 

t Vid. Mallet, Northern Antiquities, passim. 

t The Editor's MS. contains a multitude of poems of this 
latter kind. It was probably from this custom of the min- 
strels that some of our first historians wrote their chronicles 
in verse, as Robert of Gloucester, Harding, &c. 

§ See a specimen in 2d vol. of Northern Antiquities, &c, 
p. 248, &c. 



observed) a multitude of sagas,* or histories 
on romantic subjects, containing a mixture 
of prose and verse of various dates, some of 
them written since the times of the crusades, 
others long before; but their narratives in 
verse only are esteemed the more ancient. 

Now, as the irruption of the Normansf 
into France under Rollo did not take place 
till towards the beginning of the tenth cen- 
tury, at which time the Scaldic art was 
arrived to the highest perfection in Rollo's 
native country, we can easily trace the de- 
scent of the French and English romances 
of chivalry from the northern sagas. That 
conqueror doubtless carried many scalds with 
him from the north, who transmitted their 
skill to their children and successors. These, 
adopting the religion, opinions, and language 
of the new country, substituted the heroes 
of Christendom instead of those of their 
pagan ancestors, and began to celebrate the 
feats of Charlemagne, Roland, and Oliver ; 
whose true history they set off and embel- 
lished with the scaldic figments of dwarfs, 
giants, dragons, and enchantments. The 
first mention we have in song of those heroes 
of chivalry, is in the mouth of a Norman 
warrior at the conquest of England ;% and 
this circumstance alone would sufficiently 
account for the propagation of this kind of 
romantic poems among the French and Eng 
lish. 

But this is not all ; it is very certain that 
both the Anglo-Saxons and the Franks had 
brought with them, at their first emigrations 
into Britain and Gaul, the same fondness for 
the ancient songs of their ancestors, which 
prevailed among the other Gothic tribes,^ and 
that all their first annals were transmitted in 
these popular oral poems. This fondness 
they even retained long after their conver- 
sion to Christianity, as we learn from the ex- 
amples of Charlemagne and Alfred. || Now 

* Eccardi Hist. Stud. Etym. 1711, p. 179, &c. Hickes's 
Thesaur. vol. ii. p. 314. 

t i. e. Northern Men : being chiefly emigrants from 
Norway, Denmark, &c. 

X See the account of Taillefer in Essay and Note. 

\ Ipsa carmina memorise mandabant, et praelia inituri 
decantabant: qua memoria tarn fortium gestorum a majori- 
bus patratorum ad imitationem animus adderetur. Jor- 
nandes de Gothis. 

|| Eginhartus de Carolo magno. " Item barbara, et anti- 
quissima carmina, quibus veterum regum actus et bella 
canebantur, scripsit," c. 29. 

Asserius de iElfredo magno. " Rex inter bella, &c. . . . 



310 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 



poetry, being thus the transmitter of facts, 
would as easily learn to blend them with fic- 
tions in France and England, as she is known 
to have done in the north, and that much 
sooner, for the reasons before assigned.* This 
together with the example and influence of 
the Normans, will easily account to us why 
the first romances of chivalry that appeared 
both in England and Francef were composed 
in metre as a rude kind of epic songs. In 
both kingdoms, tales in verse were usually 
sung by minstrels to the harp on festival oc- 
casions : and doubtless, both nations derived 
their relish for this sort of entertainment 
from their Teutonic ancestors, without either 
of them borrowing it from the other. Among 
both people, narrative songs, on true or ficti- 
tious subjects, had evidently obtained from 
the earliest times. But the professed roman- 
ces of chivalry seem to have been first com- 
posed in France, where also they had their 
name. 

The Latin tongue, as is observed by an in- 
genious writer,^ ceased to be spoken in 
France about the ninth century, and was suc- 
ceeded by what was called the romance 
tongue, a mixture of the language of the 
Franks and bad Latin. As the songs of chi- 
valry became the most popular compositions 
in that language, they were emphatically 
called Romans or Romants ; though this 
name was at first given to any piece of 
poetry. The romances of chivalry can be 
traced as early as the eleventh century. § I 
know not if the Roman de Brut, written in 
1155, was such : But if it was, it was by no 
means the first poem of the kind ; others 
more ancient are still extant. || And we have 

Saxonicos libros recitare, et maxime carmina Saxonica 
memoriter discere, aliis imperare, et solus assidue pro 
viribus, studiosissime non desinebat." Ed. 1722, 8vo. p. 43. 

* See above, pp. 307-9, &c. 

t The romances on the subject of Perceval, San Graal, 
Lancelot du Lac, Tristan, &c, were among the first that 
appeared in the French language in prose, yet these were 
originally composed in metre : The Editor has in his pos- 
session a very old French MS. in verse, containing L'ancien 
Roman de Perceval; and metrical copies of the others may 
be found in the libraries of the curious. See a note of 
Wanley's in Ilarl. Catalog. No. 2252, p. 49, &c. Nicolson's 
Eng. Hist. Library, 3d Ed. p. 91, &c— See also a curious 
collection of old French romances, with Mr. Wanley's 
account of this sort of pieces, in Harl. MSS. Catal. 978, 106. 

% The Author of the Essay on the Genius of Pope, p. 282. 

? Ibid. p. 283. Hist. Lit. torn. vi. vii. 

|| Voi Preface aux "Fabliaux et Contes des Poetes Fran- 
cois des xii., xiii., xiv., et xv. siecles, &c. Paris, 1756, 3 
torn. 12mo.," (a very curious work). 



already seen, that, in the preceding century, 
when the Normans marched down to the bat- 
tle of Hastings, they animated themselves, 
by singing (in some popular romance or bal- 
lad) the exploits of Roland and the other he- 
roes of chivalry.* 

So early as this I cannot trace the songs 
of chivalry in English. The most ancient I 
have seen is that of Ilornechild, described 
below, which seems not older than the 12th 
century. However, as this rather resembles 
the Saxon poetry than the French, it is not 
certain that the first English romances were 
translated from that language. f "We have 
seen above, that a propensity to this kind of 
fiction prevailed among all the Gothic na- 
tions ;% and though, after the Norman con- 
quest, this country abounded with French ro- 
mances, or with translations from the French, 
there is good reason to believe that the Eng- 
lish had original pieces of their own. 

The stories of King Arthur and his Round- 
Table may be reasonably supposed of the 
growth of this Island ; both the French and 
the Atfmoricans probably had them from Bri- 
tain.§ The stories of Guy and Bevis, with 
some others, were probably the invention of 
English minstrels. || On the other hand, 

* See the account of Taillefer in Essay, and Note. And 
see Rapin, Carte, &c. — This song of Roland (whatever it 
was) continued for some centuries to be usually sung by 
the French in their marches, if we may believe a modern 
French writer. " Un jour qu'on chantoit la Chanson de 
Roland, comme c'etoit l'usage dans les marches. II y a long 
temps, dit il [John K. of France, who died in 1634], qu'on 
ne voit plus de Rolands, parmi les Francois. On y verroit 
encore des Rolands, lui repondit un vieux Capitaine, s'ils 
avoient un Charlemagne a leur tete." Vid. torn. iii. p. 202, 
des Essnies Hist, sur Paris de M. de Saintefoix, who gives, 
as his authority, Boethius in Hist. Scotorum. This author, 
however, speaks of the complaint and repartee as made in 
an assembly of the states (vocato senalu), and not upon 
any march, &c. Vid. Boeth. lib. xv., fol. 327. Ed. Paris, 
1574. 

f See, on this subject, Notes on the Essay on the Ancient 
Minstrels (s. 2), and (o o). 

} The first romances of chivalry among the Germans were 
in metre : they have some very ancient narrative songs 
(which they call Lieder), not only on the fabulous heroes 
of their own country, but also on those of France and 
Britain, as Tristram, Arthur, Gawain, and the Knights 
von der Tafelronde. Vid. Goldasti Not. in Eginhart. Vid. 
Car. Mag. 4to., 1711, p. 207. 

2 The Welsh have still some very old romances about 
King Arthur; but as these are in prose, they are not pro- 
bably their first pieces that were composed on that subject. 

|| It is most credible that these stories were originally of 
English invention, even if the only pieces now extant should 
be found to be translations from the French. What now 
pass for the French originals were probably only amplifica- 
tions, or enlargements of the old English story. That the 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 



311 



the English procured translations of such ro- 
mances as were most current in France: and 
in the list given at the conclusion of these 
remarks, many are doubtless of French ori- 
ginal. 

The first prose books of chivalry that ap- 
peared in our language were those printed by 
Caxton ;* at least, these are the first I have 
been able to discover, and these are all trans- 
lations from the French. Whereas romances 
of this kind had been long current in metre, 
and were so generally admired in the time 
of Chaucer, that his rhyme of Sir Thopas 
was evidently written to ridicule and bur- 
lesque them.f 

He expressly mentions several of them by 
name in a stanza, which I shall have occa- 
sion to quote more than once in this volume. 

Men speken of romaunces of pris 
Of Horn-Child, and of Ipotis 

Of Bevis, and Sire Guy 
Of Sire Libeux, and Pleindamour, 
But Sire Thopas, he bereth the flour 

Of real chevalrie.t 

Most, if not all of these, are still extant in 
MS. in some or other of our libraries, as I 
shall show in the conclusion of this slight 
essay, where I shall give a list of such metri- 
cal histories and romances as have fallen under 
my observation. 

As many of these contain a considerable 
portion of poetic merit, and throw great light 
on the manners and opinions of former times, 
it were to be wished that some of the best 
of them were rescued from oblivion. A judi- 
cious collection of them accurately published, 
with proper illustrations, would be an impor- 

French romancers borrowed some things from the English, 
appears from the word Termagant, which they took up 
from our minstrels, and corrupted into Tervagaunte. See 
p. 19, and Gloss. " Termagaunt." 

* Recuyel of the Hystoryes of Troy, 1471. Godfrye of 
Boloyne, 1481. Le Morte de Arthur, 14S5. The Life of 
Charlemagne, 1485, &c. As the old minstrelsy wore out, 
prose books of chivalry became more admired, especially 
after the Spanish romances began to be translated into 
English, towards the end of Queen Elizabeth's reign: then 
the most popular metrical romances began to be reduced 
into prose, as Sir Guy Bevis, &c. 

i See extract from a letter, written by the Editor of these 
volumes, in Mr. Warton's Observations, vol. ii. p. 139. 

J Canterbury Tales (Tyrwhitt's Edit.) vol. ii. p. 238. 

In all the former editions, which I have seen, the 

name at the end of the 4th line is Blandamoure. 

40 



tant accession to our stock of ancient English 
literature. Many of them exhibit no mean at- 
tempts at epic poetry : and though full of the 
exploded fictions of chivalry, frequently dis- 
play great descriptive and inventive powers 
in the bards who composed them. They are 
at least generally equal to any other poetry 
of the same age. They cannot indeed be put 
in competition with the nervous productions 
of so universal and commanding a genius as 
Chaucer ; but they have a simplicity that 
makes them be read with less interruption, 
and be more easily understood ; and they are 
far more spirited and entertaining than the 
tedious allegories of Gower, or the dull and 
prolix legends of Lydgate. Yet, while so 
much stress was laid upon the writings of 
these last, by such as treat of English poetry, 
the old metrical romances, though far more 
popular in their times, were hardly known to 
exist. But it has happened, unluckily, that 
the antiquaries, who have revived the works 
of our ancient writers, have been, for the 
most part, men void of taste and genius, and 
therefore have always fastidiously rejected 
the old poetical romances, because founded 
on fictitious or popular subjects, while they 
have been careful to grub up every petty 
fragment of the most dull and insipid rhy- 
mist, whose merit it was to deform morality or 
obscure true history. Should the public encou- 
rage the revival of some of those ancient epic 
songs of chivalry, they would frequently see the 
rich ore of an Ariosto or a Tasso, though 
buried it may be among the rubbish and 
dross of barbarous times. 

Such a publication would answer many 
important uses : It would throw new light 
on the rise and progress of English poetry, 
the history of which can be but imperfectly 
understood if these are neglected : It would 
also serve to illustrate innumerable passages 
in our ancient classic poets, which, without 
their help, must be for ever obscure. For, 
not to mention Chaucer and Spenser, who 
abound with perpetual allusions to them, I 
shall give an instance or two from Shak- 
speare, by way of specimen of their use. 

In his play of King John our great drama- 
tic poet alludes to an exploit of Richard I., 
which the reader will in vain look for in any 
true history. Faulconbridge says to his mo- 
ther, act i. sc. 1: 



312 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 



" Needs must you lay your heart at his dis- 
pose . . . 
Against whose furie and unmatched force, 
The awlesse lion could not wage the fight, 
Nor keepe his princely heart from Richard's 

hand: 
lie that perforce robs lions of their hearts 
May easily winne a woman's :" 

The fact here referred to, is to be traced to 
its source only in the old romance of Richard 
Cceur de Lyon,* in which his encounter with 
a lion makes a very shining figure. I shall 
give a large extract from this poem, as a spe- 
cimen of the manner of these old rhapsodists, 
and to show that they did not in their fictions 
neglect the proper means to produce the ends, 
as was afterwards so childlishly done in the 
prose books of chivalry. 

The poet tells us, that Richard, in his re- 
turn from the Holy Land, having been disco- 
vered in the habit of " a palmer in Almaye," 
and apprehended as a spy, was by the king 
thrown into prison. Wardrewe, the king's 
son, hearing of Richard's great strength, de- 
sires the jailor to let him have a sight of his 
prisoners. Richard being the foremost, War- 
drewe asks him, " if he dare stand a buffet 
from his hand ?" and that on the morrow he 
shall return him another. Richard consents, 
and receives a blow that staggers him. On 
the morrow, having previously waxed his 
hands, he waits his antagonist's arrival. 
Wardrewe accordingly, proceeds the story, 
" held forth as a trewe man," and Richard 
gave him such a blow on the cheek, as broke 
his jaw-bone, and killed him on the spot. 
The king, to revenge the death of his son, 
orders, by the advice of one Eldrede, that a 
lion, kept purposely from food, shall be turned 
loose upon Richard. But the king's daugh- 
ter, having fallen in love with him, tells him 
of her father's resolution, and at his request, 
procures him forty ells of white silk " ker- 
chers ;" and here the description of the com- 
bat begins: 

The kever-chefesf he toke on honde, 

And aboute his arme he wonde ; 



* Dr. Grey has shown that the same story is alluded to 
in Rastell's Chronicle : As it was doubtless originally had 
from the romance, this is proof that the old Metrical 
Romances throw light on our first writers in prose : many 
of our ancient historians hare recorded the fictions of 
romance. 

t i. e. Handkerchiefs. Here we have the etymology of 
the word, viz., " Couvre le Chef." 



And thought in that ylke while, 

To slee the lyon with some gyle. 

And syngle in a kyrtyll he stode, 

And abode the lyon fyers and wode, 

With that came the jaylere, 

And other men that wyth him were, 

And the lyon them amonge ; 

His paws were stifle and stronge 

The chambre dore they undone, 

And the lyon to them is gone. 

Rycharde sayd, Helpe, Lorde Jesu ! 

The lyon made to hym venu, 

And wolde hym have all to rente ; 

Kynge Rycharde besyde him glente* 

The lyon on the breste him spurned, 

That aboute he tourned, 

The lyon was hongry and megre, 

And bette his tayle to be egre ; 

He loked aboute as he were madde ; 

Abrode he all his pawes spradde. 

He cryde lowde, and yanedf wyde. 

Kynge Rycharde bethought hym that tyde 

What hym was beste, and to hym sterte, 

In at the throte his honde he gerte, 

And rente out the herte with his honde, 

Lounge and all that he there fonde. 

The lyon fell deed to the grounde : 

Rycharde felte no wem,J ne wounde. 

He fell on his knees on that place, 

And thanked Jesu of his grace. 



What follows is not so well, and therefore I 
shall extract no more of this poem. — For the 
above feat the author tells us, the king was 
deservedly called 

Stronge Rycharde Cure de Lyowne. 

That distich which Shakespeare puts in the 
mouth of his madman in King Lear, act 3, 
sc. 4, 

Mice and rats and such small deere 

Have been Tom's food for seven long yeare, 

has excited the attention of the critics. In- 
stead of deere, one of them would substitute 
geer; and another clieer.\ But the ancient 
reading is established by the old romance of 

* i. e. slipt aside. 

f i- °- yawned. 

\ i. e. hurt. 

\ Dr. Warhurton.— Dr. Grey. 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 



313 



Sir Bevis, which Shakspeare had doubtless 
often heard sung to the harp. This distich 
is part of a description there given of the 
hardships suffered by Bevis, when confined 
for seven years in a dungeon : 

Rattes and myse and such small dere 
Was his meate that seven yere. 

Sign. F iii. 

III. In different parts of this work, the 
reader will find various extracts from these 
old poetical legends ; to which I refer him 
for farther examples of their style and metre. 
To complete this subject, it will be proper at 
least to give one specimen of their skill in 
distributing and conducting their fable, by 
which it will be seen that nature and common 
sense had supplied to these old simple bards 
the want of critical art, and taught them 
some of the most essential rules of epic 
poetry. I shall select the romance of Libius 
Disconius,* as being one of those mentioned 
by Chaucer, and either shorter or more intel- 
ligible than the others he has quoted. 

If an epic poem maybe defined,! "A fable 
related by a poet, to excite admiration, and 
inspire virtue, by representing the action of 
some one hero, favoured by heaven, who exe- 
cutes a great design, in spite of all the obsta- 
cles that oppose him :" I know not why we 
should withhold the name of epic poem from 
the piece which I am about to analyze. 

My copy is divided into nine parts or can- 
tos, the several arguments of which are as 
follows. 

PART I. 

Opens with a short exordium to bespeak 
attention : the hero is described ; a natural 
son of SirGawain a celebrated knight of King- 
Arthur's court, who being brought up in a 
forest by his mother, is kept ignorant of his 
name and descent. He early exhibits marks 
of his courage, by killing a knight in single 
combat, who encountered him as he was 
hunting. This inspires him with a desire of 
seeking adventures : therefore clothing him- 
self in his enemy's armour, he goes to King 
Arthur's court, to request the order of knight- 

* So it is intituled iu the Editor's MS. But the true title 
is Le baux disconus, or the Fair Unknown. See a note on 
the Canterbury Tales, vol. iv. p. 333. 

t Vid. " Diseours sur la Poesie Epique," prefixed to 
Telemaque. 



hood. His request granted, he obtains a 
promise of having the first adventure as- 
signed him that shall offer. — A damsel named 
Ellen, attended by a dwarf, comes to implore 
King Arthur's assistance, to rescue a young 
princess, " the Lady of Sinadone," their mis- 
tress, who is detained from her rights, and 
confined in prison. The adventure is claimed 
by the young knight Sir Lybius : the king 
assents ; the messengers are dissatisfied, and 
object to his youth ; but are forced to acqui- 
esce. And here the first book closes with a 
description of the ceremony of equipping 
him forth. 

PART II. 

Sir Lybius sets out on the adventure : he 
is derided by the dwarf and the damsel on 
account of his youth : they come to the bridge 
of Perill, which none can pass without en- 
countering a knight called William de la 
Braunch. Sir Lybius is challenged : they 
just with their spears : De la Braunch is 
dismounted : the battle is renewed on foot : 
Sir William's sword breaks : he yields. Sir 
Lybius makes him swear to go and present 
himself to King Arthur, as the first fruits of 
his valour. The conquered knight sets out 
for King Arthur's court: he is met by three 
knights, his kinsmen ; who, informed of his 
disgrace, vow revenge, and pursue the con- 
queror. The next day they overtake him : 
the eldest of the three attacks Sir Lybius ; 
but is overthrown to the ground. The two 
other brothers assault him : Sir Lybius is 
wounded; yet cuts off the second brother's 
arm : the third yields ; Sir Lybius sends 
them all to King Arthur. In the third even- 
ing he is awakened by the dwarf, who has 
discovered a fire in the wood. 

PART III. 

Sir Lybius arms himself, and leaps on 
horseback: he finds two Giants roasting a 
wild boar, who have a fair lady their captive. 
Sir Lybius, by favour of the night, runs one 
of them through with his spear : is assaulted 
by the other: a fierce battle ensues: he cuts 
off the giant's arm, and at length his head. 
The rescued lady (an earl's daughter) tells 
him her story ; and leads him to her father's 
castle ; who entertains him with a great 
feast ; and presents him at parting with a 
suit of armour and a steed. He sends the 
giant's head to King Arthur. 



314 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 



Sir Lybius, maid Ellen, and the dwarf, 
renew their journey : they see a castle stuck 
round with human heads ; and are informed 
it belongs to a knight called Sir Gefferon, 
who, in honour of his leman or mistress, chal- 
lenges all comers: he that can produce a fairer 
lady, is to be rewarded with a milk-white 
faulcon, but if overcome, to lose his head. 
Sir Lybius spends the night in the adjoining 
town: in the morning goes to challenge the 
faulcon. The knights exchange their gloves : 
they agree to just in the market-place: the 
lady and maid Ellen are placed aloft in 
chairs ; their dresses : the superior beauty of 
Sir Gefferon's mistress described : the cere- 
monies previous to the combat. They engage : 
the combat described at large : Sir Gefferon 
is incurably hurt ; and carried home on his 
shield. Sir Lybius sends the faulcon to King 
Arthur ; and receives back a large present in 
florins. He stays forty days to be cured of 
his wounds, which he spends in feasting with 
the neighbouring lords. 



Sir Lybius proceeds for Sinadone: in a 
forest he meets a knight hunting, called Sir 
Otes de Lisle: maid Ellen charmed with a 
very beautiful dog, begs Sir Lybius to bestow 
him upon her; Sir Otis meets them, and 
claims his dog: is refused: being unarmed 
he rides to his castle, and summons his fol- 
lowers : they go in quest of Sir Lybius : a 
battle ensues : he is still victorious, and forces 
Sir Otes to follow the other conquered knights 
to King Arthur. 



Sir Lybius comes to a fair city and castle 
by a river-side, beset round with pavilions or 
tents : he is informed, in the castle is a beau- 
tiful lady besieged by a giant named Maugys, 
who keeps the bridge, and will let none pass 
without doing him homage: this Lybius re- 
fuses : a battle ensues : the giant described : 
the several incidents of the battle ; which 
lasts a whole summer's day : the giant is 
wounded ; put to flight ; slain The citizens 
come out in procession to meet their deli- 
verer : the lady invites him into her castle ; 
falls in love with him : and seduces him to 
her embraces. He forgets the princess of 



Sinadone, and stays with this bewitching 
lady a twelvemonth. This fair sorceress, 
like another Alcina, intoxicates him with all 
kinds of sensual pleasure ; Sfad detains him 
from the pursuit of honour. 



Maid Ellen by chance gets an opportunity 
of speaking to him ; and upbraids him with 
his vice and folly : he is tilled with remorse, 
and escapes the same evening. At length he 
arrives at the city and castle of Sinadone : is 
given to understand that he must challenge 
the constable of the castle to single com hat, 
before he can be received as a guest. They 
just: the constable is worsted: Sir Lybius is 
feasted in the castle: he declares his inten- 
tion of delivering their lady ; and inquires 
the particulars of her history. " Two Necro- 
mancers have built a fine palace by sorcery, 
and there keep her enchanted, till she will 
surrender her duchy to them, and yield to 
such base conditions as they would impose." 

PART VIII. 

Early on the morrow Sir Lybius sets out 
for the enchanted palace. He alights in the 
court: enters the hall: the wonders of which 
are described in strong Gothic painting. He 
sits down at the high table : on a sudden ali 
the lights are quenched : it thunders, and 
lightens ; the palace shakes ; the walls fall 
in pieces about his ears. He is dismayed 
and confounded : but presently hears horses 
neigh, and is challenged to single combat by 
the sorcerers. He gets to his steed : a battle 
ensues, with various turns of fortune: he 
loses his weapon ; but gets a sword from one 
of the necromancers, and wounds the other 
with it: the edge of the sword being secretly 
poisoned, the wound proves mortal. 



He goes up to the surviving sorcerer, who 
is carried away from him by enchantment: 
at length he finds him, and cuts off his head : 
he returns to the palace to deliver the lady ; 
but cannot find her : as he is lamenting, a 
window opens, through which enters a horri- 
ble serpent with wings and a woman's face : 
it coils round his neck, and kisses him ; then 
is suddenly converted into a very beautiful 
lady. She tells him she is the lady of Sina- 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 



315 



done, and was so enchanted, till she might kiss 
Sir Gawain, or some one of his blood : that 
he has dissolved the charm, and that herself 
and her dominions may be his reward. The 
knight (whose descent is by this means dis- 
covered) joyfully accepts the offer; makes 
her his bride, and then sets out with her for 
King Arthur's court. 

Such is the fable of this ancient piece : 
which the reader may observe, is as regular 
in its conduct, as any of the finest poems of 
classical antiquity. If the execution, particu- 
larly as to the diction and sentiments, were 
but equal to the plan, it would be a capital 
performance ; but this is such as might be 
expected in rude and ignorant times, and in 
a barbarous unpolished language. 

IV. I shall conclude this prolix account 
with a list of such old metrical romances as 
are still extant ; beginning with those men- 
tioned by Chaucer. 

1. The romance of " Home Childe" is pre- 
served in the British Museum, where it is 
entitled ]>e geste of King Home. See Cata- 
log. Harl. MSS. 2253, p. 70. The language 
is almost Saxon, yet from the mention in it 
of Sarazens, it appears to have been written 
after some of the Crusades. It begins thus : 

All heo ben blyfe 

J»at to my song ylype : 

A son 5 ychulla ou sin g 

Of AUof ]>e gode kynge,* &c. 

Another copy of this poem, but greatly 
altered, and somewhat modernized, is pre- 
served in the Advocates' Library at Edin- 
burgh, in a MS. quarto volume of old Eng- 
lish poetry [W. 4, 1], No. xxxiv., in seven 
leaves or folios,f entitled Hornchild and 
Maiden Binivel, and beginning thus : 

Mi leve frende dere, 
Herken and ye may here. 

2. The Poem of Ipotis (or Tpotis) is pre- 
served in the Cotton Library, Calig. A. 2, fo. 

* i. e. May all they be blithe, that to my song listen : A 
song I shall you sing, of Allof the good king, &c. 

f In each full page of this vol. are forty-four lines, when 
the poem is in long metre: and eighty-eight when the 
metre is short, and the page in two columns. 



77, but is rather a religious legend, than a 
romance. Its beginning is, 

He J»at wyll of wysdome here 

Herkeneth now ze may here 

Of a tale of holy wryte 

Seynt Jon the Evangelyste wytnesseth hyt. 

3. The Romance of Sir Guy was written 
before that of Bevis, being quoted in it.* An 
account of this old poem is given in Series I., 
Book ii., No. I. To which it may be added, 
that two complete copies in MS. are preserved 
at Cambridge, the one in the public Library,! 
the other in that of Caius College, Class A 

8. In Ames's Typog. p. 153, may be seen 

the first lines of the printed copy. — The first 
MS. begins, 

Sythe the tyme that God was borne. 

4. Guy and Colbronde, an old romance in 
three parts, is preserved in the Editor's folio 
MS. (p. 349). It is in stanzas of six lines, 
the first of which may be seen in vol. ii. p. 
191, beginning thus : 

When meate and drinke is great plentye. 

In the Edinburgh MS. (mentioned above) 
are two ancient poems on the subject of Guy 
of Warwick : viz. No. xvm. containing twen- 
ty-six leaves, and xx. fifty-nine leaves. Both 
these have unfortunately the beginnings 
wanting, otherwise they would perhaps be 
found to be different copies of one or both the 
preceding articles. 

5. From the same MS. I can add another 
article to this list, viz. The Romance of Rem- 
brun son of Sir Guy ; being No. xxi. in nine 
leaves : this is properly a continuation of the 
History of Guy: and in art. 3, the Hist, of 
Rembrun follows that of Guy as a necessary 
part of it. This Edinburgh Romance of 
Rembrun begins thus : 

Jesu that erst of mighte most 
Fader and Sone and Holy Ghost. 

* Sign. K. 2, b. 

•(• For this and most of the following, which are mentioned 
as preserved in the public Library, I refer the reader to the 
Oxon Catalogue of MSS., 1697, vol. ii. p. 394; in Appendix 
to Bishop Moore's MSS. No. 690, 33, since given to the 
University of Cambridge. 



310 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 



Before I quit the subject of Sir Guy, I must 
observe, that if we may believe Dugdale in 
his Baronage (vol. i. p. 243, col. 2,) the fame 
of our English Champion had in the time of 
Henry IV. travelled as far as the East, and 
was no less popular among the Sarazens, than 
here in the West among the nations of Chris- 
tendom. In that reign a Lord Beauchamp 
travelling to Jerusalem, was kindly received 
by a noble person, the Soldan's lieutenant, 
who hearing he was descended from the fa- 
mous Guy of Warwick, " whose story they 
had in books of their own language," invited 
him to his palace ; and royally feasting him, 
presented him with three precious stones of 
great value ; besides divers cloaths of silk 
and gold given to his servants. 

6. The Romance of Syr Bevis is described 
in Series I. Book iii. No. 1. Two manuscript 
copies of this poem are extant at Cambridge ; 
viz. in the public library,* and in that of 
Caius Coll. Class A. 9 (5).— The first of these 
begins, 

Lordyngs lystenyth grete and smale. 

There is also a copy of this Romance of Sir 
Bevis of Hamptoun, in the Edinburgh MS. 
No. xxii. consisting of twenty-five leaves, 
and beginning thus : 

Lordinges herkneth to mi tale, 
Is merier than the nightengale. 

The printed copies begin different from 
both, viz. 

Lysten, Lordinges, and hold you styl. 

7. Libeaux (Libeaus, or Lybius) Discounts 
is preserved in the Editor's folio MS. (pag. 
317) where the first stanza is, 

Jesus Christ christen kinge, 

And his mother that sweete thinge, 

Helpe them at their neede, 
That will listen to my tale, 
Of a Knight I will you tell, 

A doughty man of deede. 

An older copy is preserved in the Cotton 

* No. 690, sec. 31. Vid. Catalog. MSS. p. 394. 



Library (Calig. A. 2, fol. 40), but containing 
such innumerable variations, that it is appa- 
rently a different translation of some old 
French original, which will account for the 
title of Le Beaux Disconus, or The Fair Un- 
known, the first line is, 

Jesu Christ our Savyour. 

As for Pleindamour, or Blandamoure, no 
romance with this title has been discovered ; 
but as the word Blaundemere occurs in the 
romance of Libius Disconius, in the Editor's 
folio MS. p. 319, he thought the name of 
Blandamoure (which was in all the editions 
of Chaucer he had then seen) might have 
some reference to this. But Pleindamour, 
the name restored by Mr. Tyrrwhitt, is more 
remote. 

8. Le Morte Arthure is among the Harl. 
MSS. 2252, \ 49. This is judged to be a 
translation from the French ; Mr. Wanley 
thinks it no older than the time of Henry 
VII., but it seems to be quoted in Syr Bevis 
(Sign K. ij b.) It begins, 

Lordinges that are leffe and deare. 

In the Library of Bennet College, Cam- 
bridge, No. cccli. is a MS. entitled, in tho 
catalogue, Acta Arihuris Metrico Anglican*), 
but I know not its contents. 

9. In the Editor's folio MS. are many 
songs and romances about King Arthur and 
his Knights, some of which are very imper- 
fect, as King Arthur and the King of Conv- 
wall, (p. 24) in stanzas of four lines, begin- 
ning, 

' Come here,' my cozen Gawaine so gay. 

The Turke and Gawain (p. 38), in stanzas 
of six lines, beginning thus : 

Listen lords great and small.* 

but these are so imperfect that I do not make 
distinct articles of them. See also Series I. 
Book i. No. 1, 2, 4, 5. 

* In the former editions ; after the above, followed men. 
tion of a fragment in the same MS. intituled, Sir Lionel, in 
distichs (p. 32) ; but this being only a short ballad, and 
not relating to King Arthur, is here omitted. 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 



317 



In the same MS. (p. 203) is the Greene 
Knight, in two parts, relating a curious ad- 
venture of Sir Gawain, in stanzas of six lines, 
beginning thus : 

List : when Arthur he was k : 

10. The Carle of Carlisle is another roman- 
tic tale about Sir Gawain, in the same MS. 
p. 448, in distichs : 

Listen : to me a little stond. 

In all these old poems the same set of 
knights are always represented with the 
same manners and characters ; which seem 
to have been as well known, and as distinct- 
ly marked among our ancestors, as Homer's 
heroes were among the Greeks ; for, as Ulys- 
ses is always represented crafty, Achilles 
irascible, and Ajax rough ; so Sir Gawain is 
ever courteous and gentle, Sir Kay rugged 
and disobliging, &c. " Sir Gawain with his 
olde curtesie," is mentioned by Chaucer as 
noted to a proverb, in his Squire's Tales. 
Canterb. Tales, vol. n. p. 104. 

11. Syr Launfal, an excellent old romance 
concerning another of King Arthur's knights, 
is preserved in the Cotton Library, Calig. A. 
2, f. 33. This is a translation from the 
French,* made by one Thomas Chestre, who 
is supposed to have lived in the reign of 
Henry VI. (See Tanner's Biblioth.) It is 
in stanzas of six lines, and begins, 

Be douzty Artours dawes. 

The above was afterwards altered by some 
minstrel into the romance of Sir Lambewell, 
in three parts, under which title it was more 
generally known.f This is in the Editor's 
folio MS. p. 60, beginning thus : 

Doughty in King Arthures dayes. 

12. Eger and Grime, in six parts (in the 
Editor's folio MS. p. 124), is a well invented 
tale of chivalry, scarce inferior to any of 
Ariosto's. This, which was inadvertently 

- 4 ■ 

* The French original is preserved among the Ilarl, MSS. 
No. 978, sec. 112, Lanval. 

t See Laneham's Letter concerning Queen Elizabeth's 
entertainment at Killingworth, 1575, 12mo. p. 34. 



omitted in the former editions of this list, is 
in distichs, and begins thus : 

It fell sometimes in the land of Beame. 

13. The Romance of Merline, in nine parts, 
(preserved in the same folio MS. p. 145) 
gives a curious account of the birth, parent- 
age, and juvenile adventures of this famous 
British prophet. In this poem the Saxons 
are called Sarazens ; and the thrusting the 
rebel angels out of Heaven is attributed to 
" oure Lady." It is in distichs, and begins 
thus : 

He that made with his hand. 

There is an old romance Of Arthour and 
of Merlin, in the Edinburgh MS. of old Eng- 
lish poems : I know not whether it has any- 
thing in common with this last mentioned. 
It is in the volume numbered xxiii., and ex- 
tends through fifty-five leaves. The two first 
lines are, 

Jesu Crist, heven king, 
Al ous graunt gode ending. 

14. Sir Isenbras (or as it is in the MS. 
copies, Sir Isumbras) is quoted in Chaucer's 
R. of Thop. v. 6. Among Mr. Garrick's old 
plays is a printed copy ; of which an account 
has been already given in Series I. Book iii. 
No. 8. It is preserved in MS. in the Library 
of Caius Coll. Camb. Class A. 9. (2) and also 
in the Cotton Library, Calig. A. 12. (f. 128.) 
This is extremely different from the printed 
copy, E. g. 

God }>at made both er]>e and hevene. 

15. Emart, a very curious and ancient ro- 
mance, is preserved in the same volume of 
the Cotton Library, f. 69. It is in stanzas of 
six lines, and begins thus : 

Jesu J) at ys kyng in trone. 

16. Chevelere assigne, or, The Knight of 
the Swan, preserved in the Cotton Library, 
has been already described in the Essay on 
P. Plowman's Metre, &c. Series II. Book iii. 
No. 1, as hath also 

17. The Sege of JMam (or Jerusalem), 



318 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 



which seems to have been written after the 
other, and may not improperly be classed 
among the romances ; as may also the fol- 
lowing, which is preserved in the same vol- 
ume ; viz. 

18. Owaine Myles, (fol. 90), giving an ac- 
count of the wonders of St. Patrick's Purga- 
tory. This is a translation into verse of the 
story related in Mat. Paris's Hist. (sub. ann. 
1153.) — It is in distichs beginning thus: 

God f»at ys so full of myght. 

In the same manuscript are three or four 
other narrative poems, which might be reck- 
oned among the romances, but being rather 
religious legends, I shall barely mention 
them ; as Tundale f. 17. Ib-entale Sci Grego- 
rii, f. 84. Jerome, f. 133. Eustache, f. 136. 

19. Octavian imperator, an ancient romance 
of chivalry, is in the same volume of the Cot- 
ton Library, f. 20. — Notwithstanding the 
name, this old poem has nothing in common 
with the history of the Roman emperors. It 
is in a very peculiar kind of stanza, whereof 
1, 2, 3, and 5, rhyme together, as do 4 and 6. 
It begins thus 

Ihesu J) at was with spere ystonge. 

In the public Library at Cambridge,* is a 
poem with the same title, that begins very 
differently 

Lyttyll and mykyll, olde and yonge. 

20. Eglamour of Artas (or Artoys) is pre- 
served in the same volume with the foregoing, 
both in the Cotton Library, and public Li- 
brary at Cambridge. It is also in the Edit- 
or's folio MS. (p. 295) where it is divided 
into six parts. — A printed copy is in the Bod- 
leian Library, C. 39, Art. Seld., and also 
among Mr. Garrick's old plays, K. vol. x. It 
is in distichs, and begins thus : 

Ihesu Crist of heven kyng. 

21. Syr Triamore (in stanzas of six lines) 
is preserved in MS. in the Editor's volume 
(p. 210), and in the public Library at Cam- 



bridge, (690, I 29. Vid. Cat. MSS. p. 394).- 
Two printed copies are extant in the Bodleian 
Library, and among Mr. Garrick's plays, in 
the same volumes with the last article. Both 
the Editor's MS. and the printed copies begin, 

Nowe Jesu Chryste our heven kynge. 
The Cambridge copy thus : 

Heven blys that all shall wynne. 

22. Sir Degree (Degare, or Degore, which 
last seems the true title), in five parts, in dis- 
tichs, is preserved in the Editor's folio MS. 
p. 371, and in the public Library at Cam- 
bridge (ubi supra). — A printed copy is in the 
Bod. Library, C. 39, Art. Seld., and among 
Mr. Garrick's plays, K., vol. ix. The Editor's 
MS. and the printed copies begin, 

Lordinge, and you wyl holde you styl. 

The Cambridge MS. has it, 

Lystenyth, lordyngis, gente and fre. 

23. Ipomydon (or Chylde Ipomydon) is 
preserved among the Harl. MSS. 2252, (44.) 
It is in distichs, and begins, 

Mekely, lordyngis, gentylle and fre. 

In the Library of Lincoln Cathedral, Kk. 
3, 10, is an old imperfect printed copy, want- 
ing the whole first sheet A. 

24. The Squyr of Lowe Degre, is one of 
those burlesqued by Chaucer in his Rhyme 
of Thopas.* — Mr. Garrick has a printed copy 
of this among his old plays, K. vol. ix. It 
begins, 

It was a squyer of lowe degre, 

That loved the kings daughter of Hungre. 

25. History e of K. Richard Cure [CcEwr] 
de Lyon (Impr. "W. de Worde, 1528, 4to.) is 
preserved in the Bodleian Library, C. 39, Art. 
Selden. A fragment of it is also remaining 
in the Edinburgh MS. of old English poems, 




* This is alluded to by Shakspeare in his Henry V. (Act 
5), where Fluellyn tells Pistol, he will make him a squire 
of low degree, when he means to knock him down 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 



319 



No. xxxvii., in two leaves. A large extract 
from this romance has been given already 
above (p. 311.) Richard was the peculiar 
patron of chivalry, and favourite of the old 
minstrels and Troubadours. See Warton's 
Observ. vol. i. p. 29, vol. ii. p. 40. 

26. Of the following I have only seen No. 
xxvii., but I bebeve they may all be referred 
to the class of romances. 

The Knight of Corniest/ and the Lady of 
Faguel (Bodl. Lib. C. 39. Art. Sheld. a 
printed copy.) This Mr. Warton thinks is 
the story of Coucy's Heart, related in Fauchet, 
and in Howel's Letters (v. i. s. 6, 1. 20, See 
Wart. Obs. v. ii. p. 40.) The Editor has seen 
a very beautiful old ballad on this subject in 
French. 

27. The four following are all preserved 
in the MS. so often referred to in the public 
Library at Cambridge (690. Appendix to Bp. 
More's MSS. in Cat. MSS. torn. ii. p. 394,) 
viz. The Lay of Erie of Tholouse, (No. 
xxvii.,) of which the Editor hath also a copy 
from "Cod. MSS. Mus. Ashmol. Oxon." The 
first line of both is, 

Jesu Chryste in Trynyte. 

28. Roberd Kynge of Cysyll (or Sicily,) 
showing the fall of pride. Of this there is 
also a copy among the Harl. MSS. 1703 (3.) 
The Cambridge MS. begins, 

Princis that be prowde in prese. 

29. Le bone Florence of Rome, beginning 
thus: 

As ferre as men ride or gone. 

30. Dioclesian the Emperour, beginning, 
Sum tyme ther was a noble man. 

31. The two knightly brothers Amys and 
Amelion (among the Harl. MSS. 2386, g 42) 
is an old romance of chivalry ; as is also, I 
believe, the fragment of the Lady Belesant, 
the duke of Lombardy's fair daughter, men- 
tioned in the same article. See the Catalog, 
vol. ii. 

41 



32. In the Edinburgh MS. so often refer- 
red to (preserved in the Advocates' Library, 
W. 4, 1,) might probably be found some 
other articles to add to this list, as well as 
other copies of some of the pieces mentioned 
in it; for the whole volume contains not 
fewer than thirty-seven poems or romances, 
some of them very long. But as many of 
them have lost the beginnings, which have 
been cut out for the sake of the illuminations, 
and as I have not had an opportunity of ex- 
amining the MS. myself, I shall be content 
to mention only the articles that follow ;* viz. 

An old romance about Rouland (not I be- 
lieve the famous Paladine, but a champion 
named Rouland Louth; query) being in the 
volume, No. xxvii., in five leaves, and wants 
the beginning. 

33. Another romance, that seems to be a 
kind of continuation of this last, entitled, 
Otuel a Knight (No. xxviii., in eleven leaves 
and a half.) The two first lines are, 

Herkneth both zinge and old, 
That willen heren of battailes bold. 

34. The King of Tars (No. iv., in five 
leaves and a half; it is also in the Bodleian 
Library, MS. Vernon f. 304), beginning thus: 

Herkneth to me both eld and zing, 
For Maries love that swete thing. 

35. A tale or romance (No. i., two leaves) 
that wants both beginning and end. The 
first lines now remaining are, 

The Erl him graunted his will y-wis. that 

the knicht him haden y told. 
The Baronnis that were of mikle pris. befor 

him they weren y-cald. 

36. Another mutilated tale or romance (No. 
iii. four leaves). The first lines at present 



To Mr. Steward will y gon. and tellen him 

the sothe of the 
Reseyved bestow sone anon, gif zou will 

serve and with hir be. 

* Some of these I give, though mutilated and divested 
of their titles, because they may enable a curious inquirer 
| to complete or improve other copies. 



320 



THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 



37. A mutilated tale or romance (No. xi. 
in thirteen leaves). The two first lines that 
occur are, 

That riche Dooke his fest gan hold 
With Erls and with Baronns bold. 

I cannot conclude my account of this curi- 
ous manuscript, without acknowledging that 
I was indebted to the friendship of the Rev. 
Dr. Blair, the ingenious professor of Belles 
Lettres in the University of Edinburgh, for 
whatever I learned of its contents, and for 
the important additions it enabled me to 
make to the foregoing list. 

To the preceding articles, two ancient met- 
rical romances in the Scottish dialect may 
now be added, which are published in Pin- 
kerton's "Scottish poems, reprinted from 
scarce editions." Lond. 1792, in 3 vols. 8vo. 
viz. 

38. Gawan and Gologras, a metrical ro- 
mance, from an edition printed at Edinburgh, 
1508, 8vo., beginning, 

In the tyme of Arthur, as trew men me tald. 

It is in stanzas of thirteen lines. 

39. Sir Gawan and Sir Galaron of Gallo- 
way, a metrical romance, in the same stanzas 
as No. xxxviii., from an ancient MS. begin- 
ning thus : 



In the tyme of Arthur an aunter* betydde 
By the Turnwathelan, as the boke tells ; 
Whan he to Carlele was comen, and conqueror 
kyd, &c. 

THE END OF THE ESSAY. 



Both these (which exhibit the union of the 
old alliterative metre, with rhyme, &c, and 
in the termination of each stanza the short 
triplets of the Turnament of Tottenham) are 
judged to be as old as the time of our King 
Henry VI., being apparently the production 
of an old poet, thus mentioned by Dunbar, in 
his "Lament for the Death of the Makkaris:" 

" Clerk of Tranent eik he hes take, 

That made the aventures of Sir Gawane." 

It will scarce be necessary to remind the 
reader, that Turnewathelan is evidently 
Tearne- Wadling, celebrated in the old ballad 
of the Marriage of Sir Gawaine. See the 
concluding Notes to No. 4, Series I. Book i., 
and No. 19, Series I. Book iii. 

Many new references, and perhaps some 
additional articles might be added to the fore- 
going list from Mr. Warton's " History of 
English Poetry," 3 vols. 4to., and from the 
notes to Mr. Tyrwhitt's improved edition of 
" Chaucer's Canterbury Tale," &c, in 5 vols. 
8vo., which have been published since this 
Essay, &c, was first composed ; but it will 
be sufficient once for all to refer the curious 
reader to those popular works. 

The reader will also see many interesting 
particulars on the subject of these volumes, 
as well as on most points of general literature, 
in Sir John Hawkins's curious " History of 
Music," &c, in 5 vols. 4to., as also in Dr. 
Burney's History, &c, in 4 vols. 4to. 



% "log auo % ftantk, 



— Is printed verbatim from the old MS. 
described in the Preface. The Editor believes 
it more ancient than it will appear to be at 
first sight ; the transcriber of that manuscript 
having reduced the orthography and style in 
many instances to the standard of his own 
times. 

* i. e. Adventure. 



The incidents of the "Mantle" and the 
" Knife" have not, that I can recollect, been 
borrowed from any other writer. The form- 
er of these evidently suggested to Spenser 
his conceit of " Florimel's Girdle," B. iv. C. 
5, St. 3. 

That girdle gave the virtue of chaste love 
And wivehood true to all that did it beare; 



THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 



321 



But whosoever contrarie doth prove, 
Might not the same about her middle 

weare, 
But it would loose or else asunder teare. 

So it happened to the false Florimel, st. 16, 
when 

Being brought, about her middle small 

They thought to gird, as best it her became, 
But by no means they could it thereto 

frame, 
For ever as they fastned it, it loos'd 
And fell away, as feeling secret blame, &c. 
That all men wondred at the uncouth sight 
And each one thought as to their fancies 

came. 
But she herself did think it done for spight, 
And touched was with secret wrath and 

shame 
Therewith, as thing deviz'd her to defame: 
Then many other ladies likewise tride 
About their tender loynes to knit the same, 
But it would not on none of them abide, 
But when they thought it fast, eftsoones it 

was untide. 
Thereat all knights gan laugh and ladies 

lowre, 
Till that at last the gentle Amoret 
Likewise assayed to prove that girdle's 

powre. 
And having it about her middle set 
Did find it fit withouten breach or let, 
Whereat the rest gan greatly to envie. 
But Florimel exceedingly did fret, 
And snatching from her hand, &c. 

As for the trial of the Home, it is not pe- 
culiar to our Poet : It occurs in the old Ro- 
mance, entitled " Morte Arthur/' which was 
translated out of French in the time of King 
Edward IV., and first printed anno 1484. 
From that romance Ariosto is thought to have 
borrowed his tale of the Enchanted Cup, C. 
42, &c. See Mr. Warton's Observations on 
the Faerie Queen, &c. 

The story of the Horn in Morte Arthur 
varies a good deal from this of our Poet, as 
the reader will judge from the following ex- 
tract. " By the way they met with a 

knight that was sent from Morgan la Faye 
to King Arthur, and this knight had a fair 
home all garnished with gold, and the home 
bad such a virtue, that there might no ladye 



or gentlewoman drinke of that home, but if 
she were true to her husband : and if shee 
were false she should spill all the drinke, and 
if shee were true unto her lorde, shee might 
drink peaceably : and because of Queene 
Guenever and in despite of Sir Launcelot du 
Lake, this horne was sent unto King Arthur." 

This horn is intercepted and brought 

unto another king named Marke, who is not 
a whit more fortunate than the British hero, 
for he makes " his queene drinke thereof and 
an hundred ladies more, and there were but 
foure ladies of all those that dranke cleane," 
of which number the said queen proves not 
to be one [Book II., chap. 22, Ed. 1632.] 

In other respects the two stories are so dif- 
ferent, that we have just reason to suppose 
this Ballad was written before that romance 
was translated into English. 

As for Queen Guenever, she is here repre- 
sented no otherwise than in the old Histories 
and Romances. Holinshed observes, that 
" she was evil reported of, as noted of incon- 
tinence and breach of faith to hir husband." 
Vol. I., p. 93. 

*#* Such readers as have no relish for pure 
antiquity, will find a more modern copy of 
this ballad at the end of the volume. 

In the third day of may, 
To Carleile did come 
A kind curteous child, 
That cold much of wisdome 

A kirtle and a mantle 5 

This child had uppon, 
With ' brouches' and ringes 
Full richelye bedone. 

He had a sute of silke 

About his middle drawne ; 10 

Without he cold of curtesye 

He thought itt much shame. 

God speed thee, King Arthur, 
Sitting at thy meate : 
And the goodly Queene Guenever, 15 
I cannott her forgett. 

I tell you, lords, in this hall ; 

I hett you all to ' heede ;' 

Except you be the more surer 

Is you for to dread. 20 

Ver. 7, branches, MS. V. 18, heate, MS, 



322 THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 


He plucked out of his ' porterner,' 
And longer wold not dwell, 


Forth came his ladye 
Shortlye and anon ; 


65 


He pulled forth a pretty mantle, 
Betweene two nut-shells. 


Boldlye to the mantle 
Then is shee gone. 




Have thou here, King Arthur : 25 
Have thou heere of mee : 
Give itt to thy comely queene 
Shapen as itt is alreadye 


When she had tane the mantle, 
And cast it her about ; 
Then was she bare 
' Before all the rout.' 


70 



Itt shall never become that wiffe, 
That hath once done amisse, 30 

Then every knight in the kings court, 
Began to care for ' his.' 



Forth came dame Gu6never ; 
To the mantle shee her ' hied ;' 
The ladye shee was newfangle, 
But yett shee was affrayd. 



35 



When shee had taken the mantle ; 
She stoode as shee had beene madd : 
It was from the top to the toe 
As sheeres had itt shread. 40 

One while was it ' gule :' 
Another while was itt greene ; 
Another while was it wadded : 
111 itt did her beseeme. 

Another while was it blacke 45 

And bore the worst hue : 
By my troth, quoth King Arthur, 
I thinke thou be not true. 

Shee threw down the mantle, 

That bright was of blee ; 50 

Fast with a rudd redd, 

To her chamber can shee flee. 

She curst the weaver and the walker 
That clothe that had wrought ; 
And bade a vengeance on his crowne, 
That hither hath itt brought. 56 

I had rather be in a wood, 

Under a greene tree ; 

Then in King Arthurs court 

Shamed for to bee. 60 

Kay called forth his ladye, 
And bade her come neere ; 
Saies, Madam, and thou be guiltye, 
I pray thee hold thee there. 

Ver. 21, poterver, MS. V. 32, his wiffe, MS. V. 34, bided, 
MS. V. 41, gaule, MS. 



Then ever knight, 

That was in the kings court, 

Talked, laughed, and showted 75 

Full oft att that sport. 

Shee threw downe the mantle, 

That bright was of blee ; 

Fast, with a red rudd, 

To her chamber can shee flee. 80 

Forth came an old knight 
Pattering ore a creede, 
And he proferred to this litle boy 
Twenty markes to his meede ; 

And all the time of the Christmasse, 
Willinglye to ffeede ; 86 

For why this mantle might 
Doe his wiffe some need. 

When she had tane the mantle, 

Of cloth that was made, 90 

She had no more left on her, 

But a tassell and a threed : 

Then every knight in the kings court 

Bade evill might shee speed. 

Shee threw downe the mantle, 95 

That bright was of blee ; 
And fast, with a redd rudd, 
To her chamber can shee flee. 

Craddocke called forth his ladye, 100 
And bade her come in ; 
Saith, Winne this mantle, ladye, 
With a little dinne. 

Winne this mantle, ladye, 

And it shal be thine, 

If thou never did amisse 105 

Since thou wast mine. 



Ver. 75, lauged. 



THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 


323 


Forth came Craddockes ladye 


The litle boy stoode 




Shortlye and anon ; 


Looking out a dore ; 




But boldlye to the mantle 


' And there as he was lookinge 




Then is shee gone. 110 


He was ware of a wyld bore.' 




When she had tane the mantle, 


He was ware of a wyld bore, 


155 


And cast it her about, 


Wold have werryed a man : 




Upp at her great toe 


He pulld forth a wood kniffe 




It began to crinkle and crowt : 


Fast thither that he ran : 




Shee said, bowe downe, mantle, 115 


He brought in the bores head, 




And shame me not for nought. 


And quitted him like a man. 


160 


Once I did amisse, 


He brought in the bores head, 




I tell you certainlye, 


And was wonderous bold : 




When I kist Craddockes mouth 


He said there was never a cuckolds kniffe 


Under a greene tree ; 120 


Carve itt that cold. 




When I kist Craddockes mouth 






Before he marryed mee. 


Some rubbed their knives 
Uppon a whetstone : 


165 


When shee had her shreeven, 


Some threw them under the table, 




And her sines shee had tolde : 


And said they had none. 




The mantle stode about her 125 






Right as shee wold : 


King Arthur, and the child 






Stood looking upon them ; 


170 


Seemelye of coulour 


All their knives edges 




Glittering like gold : 


Turned backe againe. 




Then every knight in Arthurs court 






Did her behold. 130 


Craddocke had a litle knive 
Of iron and of Steele ; 




Then spake dame GuSnever 


He britled the bores head 


175 


To Arthur our king ; 


Wonderous weele ; 




She hath tane yonder mantle 


That every knight in the kings court 


Not with right, but with wronge. 


Had a morssell. 




See you not yonder woman, 135 


The litle boy had a home, 




That maketh her self soe ' cleane' ? 


Of red gold that ronge : 


180 


I have seene tane out of her bedd 


He said there was noe cuckolde 




Of men fiveteene ; 


Shall drinke of my home ; 
But he shold it sheede 




Priests, clarkes, and wedded men 


Either behind or beforne. 




From her bedeene : 140 






Yett shee taketh the mantle, 


Some shedd on their shoulder, 


185 


And maketh her self cleane. 


And some on their knee ; 

He that cold not hitt his mouthe, 




Then spake the litle boy, 


Put it in his eye : 




That kept the mantle in hold ; 


And he that was a cuckold 




Sayes, king, chasten thy wiffe, 145 


Every man might him see. 


190 


Of her words shee is to bold : 


Craddocke wan the home, 




Shee is a bitch and a witch, 


And the bores head : 




And a whore bold : 


His ladie wan the mantle 




King, in thine owne hall 


Unto her meede. 




Thou art a cuckold. 150 


Everye such a lovely ladye 
God send her well to speede 


195 


Ver. 134, wright, MS. V. 136, cleare, MS. V. 140, by 






deene, MS. 


Ver. 170, them upon, MS. V. 175, or birtled, MS. 



324 



THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 



II. 



%\t parriap ai Sit iatoam*, 



Is chiefly taken from the fragment of an 
old ballad in the Editor's MS., which he has 
reason to believe more ancient than the time 
of Chaucer, and what furnished that bard 
with his Wife of Bath's Tale. The original 
was so extremely mutilated, half of every 
leaf being torn away, that without large sup- 
plements, &c, it was deemed improper for 
this collection : these it has therefore received, 
such as they are. They are not here particu- 
larly pointed out, because the " Fragment" 
itself will now be found printed at the end 
of this volume. 

FART THE FIRST. 

King Arthur lives in merry Carleile, 

And seemely is to see ; 
And there with him Queene Guenever, 

That bride soe bright of blee. 

And there with him Queene Guenever, 5 
That bride soe bright in bowre : 

And all his barons about him stoode, 
That were both stifle and stowre. 

The king a royale Christmasse kept, 

With mirth and princelye cheare ; 10 

To him repaired many a knighte, 
That came both farre and neare. 

And when they were to dinner sette 

And cups went freely round : 
Before them came a faire damselle, 15 

And knelt upon the ground. 

A boone, a boone, Kinge Arthure 

I beg a boone of thee ; 
Avenge me of a carlish knighte, 

Who hath shent my love and mee. 20 

At Tearne-Wadling* his castle stands, 
Near to that lake so fair, 

* Tearne-Wadling is the name of a small lake near Iles- 
keth in Cumberland, on the road from Penrith to Carlisle. 
There is a tradition, that an old castle once stood near the 
lake, the remains of which were not long since visible. 
Team, in the dialect of that country, signifies a small lake, 
and is still in use. 



And proudlye rise the battlements, 
And streamers deck the air. 

Noe gentle knighte, nor ladye gay, 25 

May pass that castle-walle : 
But from that foule discurteous knighte, 

Mishappe will them befalle. 

Hee's twyce the size of common men, 

Wi' thewes, and sinewes stronge, 30 

And on his backe he bears a clubbe, 
That is both thicke and longe. 

This grimme barone 'twas our harde happe, 

But yester morne to see ; 
When to his bowre he bare my love, 35 

And sore misused mee. 

And when I told him, King Arthure 

As lyttle shold him spare ; 
Goe tell, sayd hee, that cuckold kinge, 

To meete mee if he dare. 40 

Upp then sterted King Arthure, 

And sware by hille and dale, 
He ne'er wolde quitt that grimme bar6ne 

Till he had made him quail. 

Goe fetch my sword Excalibar : 45 

Goe saddle mee my steede ; 
Nowe, by my faye, that grimme barone 

Shall rue this ruthfulle deede. 

And when he came to Tearne Wadlinge 
Benethe the castle walle : 50 

" Ctsne forth ; come forth ; thou proud bardne, 
Or yielde thyself my thralle." 

On magicke grounde that castle stoode, 
And fenc'd with many a spelle : 

Noe valiant knighte could tread thereon, 55 
But straite his courage felle. 

Forth then rush'd that carlish knight, 

King Arthur felte the charme : 
His sturdy sinewes lost their strengthe, 

Downe sunke his feeble arme. 60 



THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 



325 



Nowe yield thee, yield thee, King Arthure, 

Now yield thee, unto mee : 
Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande, 

Noe better termes niaye bee, 

Unlesse thou sweare upon the rood, 65 

And promise on thy faye, 
Here to returne to Tearne-Wadling, 

Upon the new-yeare's daye : 

And bringe me worde what thing it is 
All women moste desyre : 70 

This is thy ransome, Arthur, he sayes, 
He have noe other hyre. 

King Arthur then helde up his hande, 

And sware upon his faye, 
Then tooke his leave of the grimme barone, 

And faste hee rode awaye. 76 

And he rode east, and he rode west, 

And did of all inquyre, 
What thing it is all women crave, 

And what they most desyre. 80 

Some told him riches, pompe, or state ; 

Some rayment fine and brighte ;• 
Some told him mirthe ; some flatterye, 

And some a jollye knighte. 

In letters all King Arthur wrote, 85 

And seal'd them with his ringe : 

But still his minde was helde in doubte, 
Each tolde a different thinge. 

As ruthfulle he rode over a more, 

He sawe a ladye sette 90 

Betweene an oke, and a greene holleye, 

All clad in red* scarlette. 

Her nose was crookt and turnd outwarde, 

Her chin stoode all awrye ; 
And where as sholde have been her mouthe, 

Lo ! there was set her eye : 96 

Her haires, like serpents, clung aboute 

Her cheekes of deadlye hewe : 
A worse-form'd ladye than she was, 

No man mote ever viewe. 100 



* This was a common phrase in our old writers; so 
Chaucer in his Prologue to the Cant. Tales, says of the wife 
of Bath : 

Her hosen were of fyne scarlet red. 



To hail the king in seemelye sorte 

This ladye was fulle faine : 
But King Arthure all sore amaz'd, 

No aunswere made againe. 

What wight art thou, the ladye sayd, 105 

That wilt not speake to mee ; 
Sir, I may chance to ease thy paine, 

Though I bee foule to see. 

If thou wilt ease my paine, he sayd, 

And helpe me in my neede ; 110 

Ask what thou wilt, thou grimme ladye, 
And it shall bee thy meede. 

O sweare mee this upon the roode, 

And promise on thy faye ; 
And here the secrette I will telle, 115 

That shall thy ranscme paye. 

King Arthur promis'd on his faye, 

And sware upon the roode ; 
The secrette than the ladye told, 

As lightlye well shee cou'de. 120 

Now this shall be my paye, sir king, 

And this my guerdon bee, 
That some yong fair and courtlye knight, 

Thou bringe to marrye mee. 

Fast then prick'd King Arthure 125 

Ore hille, and dale, and downe : 

And soone he founde the barone's bowre : 
And soone the grimme barodne. 

He bare his clubbe upon his backe, 

Hee stoode bothe stifle and stronge ; 130 

And, when he had the letters reade, 
Awaye the lettres flunge. 

Nowe yielde thee, Arthur, and thy lands, 

All forfeit unto mee ; 
For this is not thy paye, sir king, 135 

Nor may thy ransome bee. 

Yet hold thy hand, thou proude bar6ne, 

I praye thee hold thy hand ; 
And give mee leave to speake once more 

In reskewe of my land. 140 

This morne, as I came over a more, 

I sawe a ladye sette 
Betwene an oke, and a greene holleye, 

All clad in red scarlette. 



32G 



THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 



Shee sayes, all women will have their wille, 
This is their chief desyre ; 146 

Now yield, as thou art a barone true, 
That I have payd mine hyre. 



An earlye vengeaunce light on her ! 

The earlish baron swore : 
Shee was my sister tolde thee this, 

And shee's a mishapen whore. 



150 



But here I will make mine avowe, 

To do her as ill a turne : 
For an ever I may that foule theefe gette, 

In a fyre I will her burne. 156 

PART THE SECONDE. 

Homewarde pricked King Arthure, 

And a wearye man was hee ; 
And soone he mette Queene Guenever, 

That bride so bright of blee. 

What newes ! what newes 1 thou noble king, 
Howe, Arthur, hast thou sped ? 6 

Where hast thou hung the earlish knighte? 
And where bestow'd his head ? 

The earlish knight is safe for mee, 
And free fro mortal harme : 10 

On magicke grounde his castle stands, 
And fene'd with many a charme. 

To bowe to him I was fulle faine, 

And yielde mee to his hand : 
And but for a lothly ladye, there 15 

I sholde have lost my land. 

And nowe this fills my hearte with woe, 

And sorrowe of my life ; 
I swore a yonge and courtlye knight, 

Sholde marry her to his wife. 20 

Then bespake him Sir Gawaine 
That was ever a gentle knighte : 

That lothly ladye I will wed ; 
Therefore be merrye and lighte. 

Nowe naye, nowe naye, good Sir Gawaine ; 

My sister's sonne yee bee ; 26 

This lothlye ladye's all too grimme, 

And all too foule for yee. 

Her nose is crookt and turn'd outwarde : 
Her chin stands all awrye ; 30 

A worse form'd ladye than shee is 
Was never seen with eye. 



What though her chin stand all awrye, 

And shee be foule to see : 
I'll marry her, unkle, for thy sake, 

And I'll thy ransome bee. 



35 



Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good Sir Ga- 
waine : 

And a blessing thee betyde ! 
To-morrow wee'll have knights and squires, 

And wee'll goe fetch thy bride. 40 

And wee'll have hawkes and wee'll have 
houndes, 

To cover our intent ; 
And wee'll away to the greene forest, 

As wee a hunting went. 

Sir Lancelot, Sir Stephen bolde, 45 

They rode with them that daye ; 

And foremoste of the companye 
There rode the stewarde Kaye : 

Soe did Sir Banier and Sir Bore, 

And eke Sir Garratte keene ; 50 

Sir Tristram too, that gentle knight, 

To the forest freshe and greene. 

And when they came to the greene forrest, 

Beneathe a faire holley tree 
There sate that ladye in red scarlette 55 

That unseemelye was to see. 

Sir Kay beheld that lady's face, 

And looked upon her sweere ; 
Whoever kisses that ladye, he sayes, 

Of his kisse he stands in feare. 60 

Sir Kay beheld that ladye againe, 

And looked upon her snout ; 
Whoever kisses that ladye, he sayes, 

Of his kisse he stands in doubt. 

Peace, brother Kay, sayde Sir Gawaine, 65 

And amend thee of thy life : 
For there is a knight amongst us all, 

Must marry her to his wife. 

What marry this foule queane, quoth Kay, 
I' the devil's name anone ; 70 

Gett mee a wife wherever I maye, 
In sooth shee shall be none. 

Then some tooke up their hawkes in haste, 
And some took up their houndes ; 

And sayd they wolde not marry her, 75 

For cities, nor for townes. 



THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 



327 



Then bespake him King Arthure, 

And sware there by this daye ; 
For a little foule sighte and mislik'inge, 

Yee shall not say her naye. 80 

Peace, lordlings, peace ; Sir Gawaine sayd : 

Nor make debate and strife ; 
This lothlye ladye I will take, 

And marry her to my wife. 

Now thankes, nowe thankes, good Sir Ga- 
waine, 85 

And a blessinge be thy meede ! 
For as I am thine owne ladye, 

Thou never shalt rue this deede. 



Then up they tooke that lothly dame, 
And home anone they bringe : 

And there Sir Gawaine he her wed, 
And married her with a ringe. 



90 



And when they were in wed-bed laid, 

And all were done awaye : 
" Come turne to mee, mine own wed-lord, 95 

Come turne to mee I praye." 

Sir Gawaine scant could lift his head, 

For soi'rowe and for care ; 
When, lo ! instead of that lothelye dame, 

He sawe a young ladye faire. 100 

Sweet blushes stayn'd her rud-red cheeke, 

Her eyen were blacke as sloe : 
The ripening cherrye swellde her lippe, 

And all her necke was snowe. 

Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady faire, 105 

Lying upon the sheete, 
And swore, as he was a true knighte, 

The spice was never soe sweete. 

Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady brighte, 

Lying there by his side : 110 

" The fairest flower is not so faire : 
Thou never can'st bee my bride." 

I am thy bride, mine owne deare lorde, 
The same whiche thou didst knowe, 

That was soe lothlye, and was wont 115 
Upon the wild more to goe. 

Nowe, gentle Gawaine, chuse, quoth shee, 
And make thy choice with care ; 
42 



Whether by night, or else by daye, 

Shall I be foule or faire ? 120 

" To have thee foule still in the night, 
When I with thee should playe ! 

I had rather farre, my lady deare, 
To have thee foule by daye." 

What when gaye ladyes goe with their lordes 
To drinke the ale and wine ; 126 

Alas ! then I must hide myself, 
I must not goe with mine ? 

" My faire ladye, Sir Gawaine sayd, 

I yield me to thy skille ; 130 

Because thou art mine owne ladye 
Thou shalt have all thy wille." 

Nowe blessed be thou, sweete Gawaine, 

And the daye that I thee see ; 
For as thou seest mee at this time, 135 

Soe shall I ever bee. 

My father was an aged knighte, 

And yet it chanced soe, 
He tooke to a wife a false ladye, 

Whiche broughte me to this woe. 140 

Shee witch'd mee, being a faire yonge maide, 

In the greene forest to dwelle ; 
And there to abide in lothlye shape, 

Most like a fiend of helle. 

Midst mores and mosses ; woods, and wilds ; 

To lead a lonesome life ; 146 

Till some yong faire and courtlye knighte 

Wolde marrye me to his wife : 

Nor fully to gaine mine owne trewe shape, 
Such was her devilish skille ; 150 

Until he wolde yielde to be rul'd by mee, 
And let mee have all my wille. 

She witchd my brother to a carlish boore, 
And made him stifle and stronge ; 

And built him a bowre on magicke grounde, 
To live by rapine and wronge. 156 

But now the spelle is broken throughe, 
And wronge is turnde to righte ; 

Henceforth I shall bee a faire ladye, 
And hee be a gentle knighte. 160 



328 



KING RYENCE'S CHALLENGE. 



III. 



fling Spa's Ckllcngc. 



This song is more modern than many of 
those which follow it, but it is placed here 
for the sake of the subject. It was sung be- 
fore Queen Elizabeth at the grand entertain- 
ment at Kenelworth castle in 1575, and was 
probably composed for that occasion. In a 
letter describing those festivities it is thus 
mentioned : A " JVIinstral came forth with a 
sollem song, warranted for story out of King 
Arthur's acts, whereof I gat a copy, and is 
this: 

" So it fell out on a Pentecost, &c." 

After the song the narrative proceeds : "At 
this the Minstrell made a pause and a curtezy 
for Primus Passus. More of the song is 
thear, but I gatt it not." 

The story in Morte Arthur, whence it is 
taken, runs as follows: " Came a messenger 
hastely from King Ryence of North Wales, 
saying, that King Ryence had discomfited 
and overcomcn eleaven kings, and everiche 
of them did him homage, and that was this : 
they gave him their beards cleane flayne off, — 
wherefore the messenger come for King Ar- 
thur's beard, for King Ryence had purfeled 
a mantell with kings beards, and there lacked 
for one a place of the mantell, wherefore he 
sent for his beard, or else he would enter into 
his lands, and brenn and slay, and never 
leave till he have thy head and thy beard. 
"Well, said King Arthur, thou hast said thy 
message, which is the most villainous and 
lewdest message that ever man heard sent to 
a king. Als'o thou mayest see my beard is 
full young yet for to make a purfell of, but 
tell thou the king that — or it be long he 
shall do to me homage on both his knees, or 
else he shall leese his head." [B. I. c. 24. 
See also the same Romance, B. I. c. 92.] 

The thought seems to be originally taken 
from Jeff. Monmouth's Hist. B. X. c. 3, 
which is alluded to by Drayton in his Poly- 
Olb. Song 4, and by Spenser in Faer. Qu. 6. 
1 . 13, 15. See the observations on Spenser, 
vol. II. p. 223. 

The following text is composed of the best 



readings selected from three different copies. 
The first in Enderbie's Cambria Triumphans, 
p. 197. The second in the Letter above men- 
tioned. And the third inserted in MS. in a 
copy of Morte Arthur, 1G32, in the Bodl. Li- 
brary. 

Stow tells us, that King Arthur kept his 
round table at " diverse places, but especially 
at Carlion, Winchester, and Camalet, in Som- 
ersetshire." This "Camalet," sometimes a 
famous towne or castle, is situate on a " very 
high tor or hill, &c." [See an exact descrip- 
tion in Stow's Annals, Ed. 1631, p. 55.] 

As it fell out on a Pentecost day, 

King Arthur at Camelot kept his court 
royall, 
With his faire queene dame Guenever the gay; 
And many bold barons sitting in hall ; 
With ladies attired in purple and pall ; 
And heraults in hewkes hooting on high, 
Cryed, Largesse, Largesse, Chevaliers tres- 
Jiardie.* 

A doughty dwarfe to the uppermost deas 

Right pertlye gan pricke, kneeling on knee ; 

With steven fulle stoute amids all the preas, 

Sayd, Nowe, sir King Arthur, God save 

thee, and see ! 
Sir Ryence of North-gales greeteth well 
thee, 
And bids thee thy beard anon to him send, 
Or else from thy jaws he will it off rend. 

For his robe of state is a rich scarlet mantle, 
With eleven kings beards borderedf about, 

And there is room lefte yet in a kantle, 
For thine to stande, to make the twelfth out : 
This must be done, be thou never so stout ; 

This must be done, I tell thee no fable, 

Maugre the teeth of all thy round table. 



* Largesse, Largesse. The heralds resounded these words 
as oft as they received of the bounty of the knights. See 
" Mcmoires de la Chevalerie," torn. I. p. 99. The expression 
is still used in the form of installing knights of the garter. 

t i. e. set round the border, as furs are now round tho 
gowns of Magistrates. 



KING ARTHUR'S DEATH. 



329 



When this mortal message from his mouthe 
past, 
Great was the noyse bothe in hall and in 
bower : 
The king fum'd ; the queene screecht ; ladies 
were aghast ; 
Princes puff'd ; barons blustred ; lords be- 
gan lower ; 
Knights stormed; squires startled, like 
steeds in a stower ; 
Pages and yeomen yell'd out in the hall, 
Then in came Sir Kay, the ' king's' seneschal. 

Silence, my soveraignes, quoth this courteous 
knight, 
And in that stound the stowre began still: 
1 Then' the dwarfe's dinner full deerely was 
dight ; 
Of wine and wassal he had his wille : 
And when he had eaten and drunken his 
fill,; 



An hundred pieces of fine coyned gold 
Were given this dwarf for his message bold. 

But say to Sir Ryence, thou dwarf, quoth the 
king, 
That for his bold message I do him defye ; 
And shortlye with basins and pans will him 
ring 
Out of North-gales ; where he and I 
With swords, and not razors, quicklye shall 
trye, 
Whether he, or King Arthur will prove the 

best barber ; 
And therewith he shook his good sword Es- 
calabor. 



*#* Strada, in his Prolusions, has ridi- 
culed the story of the Giant's Mantle, made 
of the beards of kings. 



IV. 



ling grijmr's gUsty. 



A FRAGMENT. 



The subject of this ballad is evidently ta- 
ken from the old romance " Morte Arthur," 
but with some variations, especially in the 
concluding stanzas ; in which the author 
seems rather to follow the traditions of the 
old Welsh Bards, who " believed that King 
Arthur was not dead, but conveied awaie by 
the Fairies into some pleasant place, where 
he should remaine for a time, and then re- 
turne againe and reign in as great authority 
as ever." Holinshed, B. 5, c. 14 ; or, as it 
is expressed in an old Chronicle printed at 
Antwerp, 1493, by Ger. de LeeAv, " The Bre- 
tons supposen, that he [King Arthur] shall 
come yet and conquere all Bretaigne, for 
certes this is the prophicye of Merlyn ; He 
sayd, that his deth shall be doubteous ; and 
sayd soth, for men thereof yet have doubte, 
and shullen for ever more, — for men wyt not 
whether that he lyveth or is dede." See more 
ancient testimonies in Selden's Notes on Po- 
lyolbion, song 3. 

This fragment, being very incorrect and 



imperfect in the original MS., hath received 
some conjectural emendations, and even a 
supplement of three or four stanzas composed 
from the romance of " Morte Arthur." 



On Trinitye Mondaye in the morne, 
This sore battayle was doom'd to be : 

Where manye a knighte cry'd, Well-awaye ! 
Alacke, it was the more pittle. 

Ere the first crowinge of the cocke, 5 

When as the kinge in his bed laye, 

He thoughte Sir Gawaine to him came,* 
And there to him these wordes did saye. 

Nowe, as you are mine unkle deare, 

And as you prize your life, this daye 10 

meet not with your foe in fighte ; 
Putt off the battayle, if yee maye. 

* Sir Gawaine had been killed at Arthur's landing on his 
return from abroad. See the nest Ballad, Ter. 73. 



J 



330 



KING ARTHUR'S DEATH. 



For Sir Launcelot is nowe in Fraunce, 
And with him many an hardye knighte : 

Who will within this moneth be backe, 15 
And will assiste yee in the fighte. 

The kinge then call'd his nobles all, 
Before the breakinge of the daye ; 

And tolde them howe Sir Gawaine came, 
And there to him these wordes did saye. 

His nobles all this counsayle gave, 21 

That earlye in the morning, hee 

Shold send awaye an herauld at amies, 
To aske a parley faire and free. 

Then twelve good knightes King Arthure 
chose, 25 

The best of all that with him were : 
To parley with the foe in field, 

And make with him agreement faire. 

The king he charged all his hoste, 

In readinesse there for to bee : 30 

But noe man sholde no weapon sturre, 
Unlesse a sword drawne they shold see. 

And Mordred on the other parte, 

Twelve of his knights did likewise bringe ; 
The beste of all his companye, 35 

To holde the parley with the kinge. 

Sir Mordred alsoe charged his hoste, 

In readinesse there for to bee ; 
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre, 

But if a sworde drawne they shold see. 40 

For he durnte not his unkle truste, 
Nor he his nephewe, sothe to tell ; 

Alacke ! it was a woefulle case, 
As ere in Chrystentye befelle. 

But when they were together mette, 45 

And both to faire accordance broughte ; 

And a month's league betweene them sette, 
Before the battayle sholde be foughte ; 

An addere crept forth of a bushe, 

Stunge one o' th' king's knightes on the 
knee : 50 

Alacke ! it was a woefulle chance, 

As ever was in Christen tie. 

Ver. 41, 42, the folio reads father sorine. 



When the knighte found him wounded sore, 
And sawe the wild-worme hanginge there ; 

His sworde he from his scubberde drewe : 55 
A piteous case, as ye shall heare. 

For when the two hostes sawe the sworde, 
They joyned battayle instantlye ; 

Till of so manye noble knightes, 

On one side there were left but three. 60 

For all were slaine that durst abide, 
And but some fewe that fled awaye : 

Ah mee ! it was a bloodye fielde, 

As ere was foughte on summer's daye. 

Upon King Arthur's own partye, 65 

Onlye himselfe escaped there, 
And Lukyn Duke of Gloster free, 

And the king's butler Bedevere. 

And when the king beheld his knightes, 
All dead and scattered on the molde ; 70 

The teares fast trickled downe his face ; 
That manlye face in fight so bolde. 

Nowe reste yee all, brave knights, he said, 
Soe true and faithful to your trust: 

And must yee then , yee valiant hearts, 75 
Be lefte to moulder into dust ! 

Most loyal have yee been to mee, 
Most true and faithful unto deathe : 

And, oh ! to rayse yee up againe, 

How freelye could I yield my breathe ! 80 

But see the traitor's yet alive, 

Lo where hee stalkes among the deade ! 
Nowe bitterlye he shall abye : 

And vengeance fall upon his head. 

O staye, my liege, then sayd the duke ; 85 

staye for love and charitie ; 
Remember what the vision spake, 

Nor meete your foe, if it may bee. 

O, staye mee not, thou worthye wight, 

This debt my loyal knights I owe : 90 

Betide me life, betide me death, 

1 will avenge them of their foe. 

Then straite he grasp'd his trustye speare, 
And on his horse then mounted hee : 

As his butler holpe him to his horse, 95 

His bowels gushed to his knee. 



KING ARTHUR'S DEATH. 



331 



Alas ! then sayd the noble king, 
That I should live this sight to see ! 

To see this good knight here be slaine, 
All for his love in helping mee ! 100 

He put his speare into his reste, 
And to Sir Mordred loud gan crye ; 

Nowe sette thyself upon thy guarde, 
For, traitor, nowe thy death is nye. 

Sir Mordred lifted up his sworde, 105 

And fierce to meet the king ran hee : 

The king his speare he through him thrust ; 
And fathom thorow his bodle. 

When Mordered felt the stroke of death, 
And found that he was wounded soe ; 110 

He thruste himselfe upon the speare, 
And strucke the king a deadlye blowe. 

Then grimmlye dyed Sir Mordered, 

Presentlye upon that tree : 
And bloody streames ranne from the kinge 

Ere to the duke returned hee. 116 

Sir Lukyn then he thus bespake, 

Sir knyghte, thou hast beene faithfulle 
tryde, 
Nowe take my sword Excalibar,* 

That hangs so freelye by my syde : 120 

O take my sword Excalibar, 

And there into the river throwe : 

For here, henceforth, benethe this tree, 
All use of weapons I foregoe. 

And fare thee well, thou trustye sword, 125 
A better neer had valiant knighte, 

With thee full ofte, and manye a daye, 
Have I withstood my foe in fighte. 

With this good fauchion in my hande, 

Oft have I reapd the bloody feelde : 130 

But now the fatalle houre is come, 
That never more I may thee weelde. 

The duke to the river side he went, 
And there his owne sword in threwe he : 

But he kept back Excalibar, 135 

He kept it back in privitie. 



* More commonly called Calibum. In the folio MS., 
Escallerd. 



For all of coleyne was the blade ; 

And all the hilte of precious stone : 
And ever alacke ! then sayd the knighte, 

Must such a sword awaye be throwne ? 

Then backe he came unto the kinge, 141 
Who sayd, Sir Lukyn, what did yee see ? 

Nothing, my liege, save that the winde 
Blewe oer the waters faire and free. 

O goe againe, then sayd the kinge, 145 

O good Sir Lukyn, goe againe : 
Into the rivere throwe my sword, 

Nor keepe me lingering here in paine. 

The duke then to the river went, 

And the kings scabbard in threwe hee ; 

But hee kept backe Excalibar, 151 

And hid it undernethe a tree. 

Then backe he came to tell the kinge, 
Who sayde, Sir Lukyn, sawe ye oughte ? 

Nothinge, my liege, save that the winde 155 
Nowe with the angrye waters fought. 

O Lukyn, Lukyn, said the kinge, 
Twice haste thou dealt deceytfullye : 

Alacke, whom may wee ever truste, 159 

When suche a knighte soe false can bee ? 

Saye, wouldst thou have thy master dead ; 

All for a sword, that wins thine eye : 
Nowe goe againe, and throwe it in, 

Or here the one of us shall dye. 

The duke, all shent with this rebuke, 165 
No aunswere made unto the kinge : 

But to the rivere tooke the sworde, 
And threwe it far as he coulde flinge. 

A hande and arme did meete the sworde, 
And flourishd three times in the air ; 170 

Then sunke benethe the renninge streme, 
And of the duke was seen noe mair. 



All sore astonied stood the duke ; 

He stood as still, as still mote bee : 
Then hastend backe to tell the kinge ; 175 

But he was gone from under the tree. 



332 



THE LEGEND OF KING ARTHUR. 



But to what place he cold not tell, 
For never after hee did him spye : 

But hee sawe a harge goe from the land, 179 
And hee heard ladyes howle and crye.* 



And whether the kinge were there, or not, 
Hee never knewe, nor ever colde : 

For from that sad and direfulle daye, 
Hee never more was seene on molde. 



fire f tgcnb flf pttjj grtljut. 



We have here a short summary of King 
Arthur's History as given by Jeff, of Mon- 
mouth and the old Chronicles, with the addi- 
tion of a few circumstances from the romance 
Morte Arthur. — The ancient chronicle of 
Ger. de Leew (quoted above in p. 329) seems 
to have been chiefly followed : upon the au- 
thority of which we have restored some of 
the names which were corrupted in the MS., 
and have transposed one stanza, which ap- 
peared to be misplaced, [viz. that beginning 
at v. 49, which in the MS. followed v. 36.] 

Printed from the Editor's ancient folio 
Manuscript. 

Of Brutus' blood, in Brittaine borne, 

King Arthur I am to name ; 
Through Christendome, and Heathynesse 

Well knowne is my worthy fame. 

In Jesus Christ I doe beleeve ; 5 

I am a Christyan bore ; 
The Father, Sone, and Holy Gost 

One God, I doe adore. 

In the four hundred ninetieth yeere, 
Over Brittaine I did rayne, 10 

After my savior Christ his byrth : 
What time I did maintaine. 

Ver. 178, see MS. V. 1, Bruite, MS. V. 9, He began his 
reign, A. D. 515, according to the Chronicles. 

* Not unlike that passage in Virgil: 

Summoque idularunt vertice nympluB. 

Ladies was the word our old English writers used for 
Nymphs : As in the following lines of an old song in the 
Editor's folio MS. 

"When scorching Phoebus he did mount, 
Then Lady Venus went to hunt : 

To whom Diana did resort, 
With all the Ladyes of hills, and valleys, 
Of springs, and floodes, Ac." 



The fellowshipp of the table round, 
Soe famous in those dayes ; 

Whereatt a hundred noble knights, 
And thirty sat alwayes : 



15 



Who for their deeds and martiall feates, 

As bookes done yett record, 
Amongst all other nations 

Wer feared throwgh the world. 20 

And in the castle off Tyntagill 

King Uther mee begate 
Of Agyana a bewtyous ladye, 

And come of ' hie' estate. 

And when I was fifteen yeere old, 25 

Then was I crowned kinge : 
All Brittaine that was att an uprdre 

I did to quiett bringe. 

And drove the Saxons from the realme 
Who had opprest this land ; 30 

All Scotland then throughe manly feats 
I conquered with my hand. 

Ireland, Denmarke, Norway, 

These countryes wan I all ; 
Iseland, Gotheland, and Swethland ; 35 

And made their kings my thrall. 

I conquered all Gallya, 

That now is called France ; 
And slew the hardye Froll in feild 

My honor to advance. 40 

And the ugly gyant Dynabus 

Soe terrible to vewe, 
That in Saint Barnards mount did lye, 1 

By force of armes I slew : 



Ver. 23, She is named Igcrna in the old Chronicles. V. 
24, his, MS. ^V. 39, Froland field, MS. Froll, according to 
the Chronicles, was a Roman knight, governor of Gaul. V. 
41, Danibus, MS. 



A DYTTIE TO IIEY DOWNE. 



333 



And Lucyus the emperour of Rome 45 

I brought to deadlye wracke ; 
And a thousand more of noble knightes 

For feare did turne their backe : 

Five kinges of " paynims" I did kill 
Amidst that bloody strife ; 50 

Besides the Grecian emperour 
Who alsoe lost his liffe. 

"Whose carcasse I did send to Rome 

Cladd poorlye on a beere ; 
And afterward I past Mount- Joye 55 

The next approaching yeere. 

Then I came to Rome, where I was mett 

Right as a conquerour, 
And by all the cardinalls solempnelye 

I was crowned an emperour. 60 

One winter there I made abode : 
Then word to mee was brought 

Howe Mordred had oppressd the crowne : 
What treason he had wrought 

Att home in Brittaine with my queene ; 65 

Therfore I came with speede 
To Brittaine backe, with all my power, 

To quitt that traiterous deede : 



And soone at Sandwiche I arrivde, 
Where Mordred me withstoode : 

But yett at last I landed there, 
With effusion of much blood. 



70 



For there my nephew Sir Gawaine dyed, 

Being wounded in that sore, 
The whiche Sir Lancelot in fight 75 

Had given him before. 

Thence chased I Mordered away, 

Who fledd to London right, 
From London to Winchester, and 

To Cornewalle tooke his flyght. 80 

And still I him pursued with speed 

Till at the last wee mett: 
Wherby an appointed day of fight 

Was there agreed and sett. 

Where we did fight, of mortal life 85 

Eche other to deprive, 
Till of a hundred thousand men 

Scarce one was left alive. 

There all the noble chivalrye 

Of Brittaine tooke their end. 90 

O see how fickle is their state 

That doe on feates depend ! 

There all the traiterous men were slaine, 

Not one escapte away ; 
And there dyed all my vallyant knightes 

Alas ! that woefull day ! 96 

Two and twenty yeere I ware the crowne 

In honor and great fame ; 
And thus by death was suddenlye 

Deprived of the same. 100 



VI. 



g, Until* to Jfg $0tont 



Copied from an old MS. in the Cotton Li- 
brary, [Vesp. A. 25,] entitled, " Divers things 
of Hen. viij's time." 

Who sekes to tame the blustering winde, 
Or causse the floods bend to his wyll, 

Or els against dame nature's kinde 

To ' change' things frame by cunning 
skyll: 

That man I thinke bestoweth paine, 5 

Thousrhe that his laboure be in vaine. 



Ver. 49, of Pavye, MS. T. 4, causse, MS. 



Who strives to breake the sturdye Steele, 
Or goeth about to staye the sunne ; 

Who thinks to causse an oke to reele, 
Which never can by force be done : 10 

That man likewise bestoweth paine, 

Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine. 

Who thinks to stryve against the streame, 
And for to sayle without a maste ; 

Unlesse he thinks perhapps to faine, 15 

His travell ys forelorne and waste ; 

And so in cure of all his paine, 

His travell ys his cheffest gaine. 

Ver. 92, perhaps fates. 



334 



GLASGERION. 



So he lykewise, that goes about 
To please eche eye and every care, 

Had nede to have withouten doubt 
A golden gyft with hym to beare : 

For evyll report shall be his gaine, 

Though he bestowe both toyle and paine. 



20 



God grant eche man one to amend ; 25 

God send us all a happy place ; 
And let us pray unto the end, 

That we may have our princes grace : 
Amen, amen ! so shall we gaine 
A dewe reward for all our paine. 30 



VII. 

I»80Uifltt. 



An ingenious Friend thinks that the fol- 
lowing old Ditty (which is printed from the 
Editor's folio MS.) may possibly have given 
birth to the Tragedy of the "Orphan," in 
which Polidore intercepts Monimia's intend- 
ed favours to Castalio. 

See what is said concerning the hero of 
this song (who is celebrated by Chaucer 
under the name of Glaskyrion) in the Essay 
prefixed to Series the First, Note H. 

Glasgerion was a kings owne sonne, 

And a harper he was goode : 
He harped in the kinges chambere, 

Where cuppe and caudle stoode. 

And soe did hee in the queens chamber, 5 

Till ladies waxed ' glad.' 
And then bespake the kinges daughter ; 

And these wordes thus shee sayd. 

Strike on, strike on, Glasgerion, 

Of thy striking doe not blinne : 10 

Theres never a stroke comes oer thy harpe, 

But it glads my hart withinne. 

Faire might he fall, ladye, quoth hee, 
Who taught you nowe to speake ! 

I have loved you, ladye, seven longe yeere 15 
My minde I neere durst breake. 

But come to my bower, my Glasgeridn, 

When all men are att rest : 
As I am a ladie true of my promise, 

Thou shalt bee a welcome guest. 20 

Home then came Glasgerion, 

A glad man, lord ! was hee. 
And, come thou hither, Jacke my boy ; 

Come hither unto mee. 



Ver. 6, wood, MS. Ver. 16, harte, MS. 



For the kinges daughter of Normandye 25 

Hath granted mee my boone : 
And att her chambere must I bee 

Beffore the cocke have crowen. 

master, master, then quoth hee, 

Lay your head downe on this stone : 30 

For I will waken you, master deere, 
Afore it be time to gone. 

But up then rose that lither ladd, 

And hose and shoone did on : 
A coller he cast upon his necke 35 

Hee seemed a gentleman. 

And when he came to the ladies chamber, 

He thrild upon a pinn.* 
The lady was true of her promise, 

Rose up and lett him in. 40 

He did not take the lady gaye 

To boulster nor to bed : 
' Nor thoughe hee had his wicked wille, 

A single word he sed.' 

He did not kisse that ladyes mouthe, 45 

Nor when he came, nor youd : 
And sore mistrusted that ladye gay, 

He was of some churls bloud. 

But home then came that lither ladd, 

And did off his hose and shoone ; 50 

And cast the coller from off his necke : 
He was but a churles sonne. 



* This is elsewhere expressed ' twirled the pin' or ' tirUd 
at the pin' [See B. II. S. VI. v. 3], and seems to refer to the 
turning round the button on the outside of a door, by 
which the latch rises, still used in cottages. 



OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE. 



335 



Awake, awake, my deere master, 
The cock hath well-nigh crowen. 

Awake, awake, my master deere, 
I hold it time to be gone. 



55 



For I have saddled your horsse, master, 
Well bridled I have your steede : 

And I have served you a good breakfast 
For thereof yc have need. GO 

Up then rose good Glasgerion, 

And did on hose and shoone ; 
And cast a coller about his necke : 

For he was a kinge his sonne. 

And when he came to the ladyes chamber, 
He thrild upon the pinne : 66 

The ladye was more than true of promise, 
And rose and let him inn. 

Saies, whether have you left with me 
Your bracelett or your glove ? 70 

Or are you returned backe againe 
To know more of my love ? 

Glasgerion swore a full great othe, 
By oake, and ashe, and thorne ; 

Lady, I was never in your chamber, 75 

Sith the time that I was borne. 



then it was your lither foot-page, 

He hath beguiled mee. 
Then shee pulled forth a little pen-knlffe, 

That hanged by her knee : 80 

Sayes, there shall never noe churles blood 

Within my bodye spring : 
No churles blood shall ever defile 

The daughter of a kinge. 

Home then went Glasgerion, 85 

And woe, good lord, was hee. 
Sayes, come thou hither, Jacke my boy, 

Come hither unto mee. 

If I had killed a man to night, 

Jack, I would tell it to thee : 90 

But if I have not killed a man to-night, 

Jacke, thou hast killed three. 

And he puld out his bright browne sword, 

A dryed it on his sleeve, 
And he smote off that lither ladds head, 95 

Who did his ladye grieve. 

He sett the swords poynt till his brest, 

The pummil untill a stone : 
Throw the falsenesse of that lither ladd, 

These three lives werne all gone. 100 



VIII. 



n gUbin at lurtinpk 



From an ancient copy in the Editor's folio 
MS., which was judged to require consider- 
able corrections. 

In the former Edition the hero of this piece 
had been called Sir Robin, but that title not 
being in the MS. is now omitted. 

Let never again soe old a man 

Marrye soe yonge a wife, 
As did old Robin of Portingale ; 

Who may rue all the dayes of his life 

For the mayors daughter of Lin, god wott, 5 

He chose her to his wife, 
And thought with her to have lived in love, 

But they fell to hate and strife. 



43 



Ver. 76, litle, MS. 



They scarce were in their wed-bed laid, 
And scarce was hee asleepe, 10 

But upp shee rose, and forth shee goes, 
To the steward, and gan to weepe. 

Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles ? 

Or be you not within ? 
Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles, 15 

Arise and let me inn. 

O, I am waking, sweete, he said, 
Sweete ladye, what is your will ? 

I have unbethought me of a wile 

How my wed-lord weell spill. 20 

Ver. 19, unbethought [properly onbethought], this word 
is still used in the Midland counties in the same sense as 
bethought. 



33G 



OLD ROBIN OF PORT1NGALE. 



Twenty-four good knights, shee sayes, 

That dwell about this towne, 
Even twenty-four of my next cozens 

Will helpo to dinge him downe. 

All that beheard his litle footepage, 25 

As he watered his masters steed ; 

And for his masters sad perllle 
His verry heart did bleed. 

He mourned still, and wept full sore 

I sweare by the holy roode 30 

The teares he for his master wept 
"Were blent water and bloude. 

And that beheard his deare master 

As he stood at his garden pale : 
Sayes, Ever alacke, my litle foot-page, 35 

What causes thee to wail ? 

Hath any one done to thee wronge 

Any of thy fellowes here ? 
Or is any of thy good friends dead, 

That thou shedst manye a teare ? 40 

Or, if it be my head bookes-man, 

Aggrieved he shal bee : 
For no man here 7 r ithin my howse, 

Shall doe wrong unto thee. 

0, it is not your head bookes-man, 45 

Nor none of his degree : 
But, on to-morrow ere it be noone 

All deemed to die are yee. 

And of that bethank your head steward, 
And thank your gay ladie. 50 

If this be true, my litle foot-page, 
The heyre of my land thoust bee. 

If it be not true, my dear master, 

No good death let me die. 
If it be not true, thou litle foot-page, 55 

A dead corse shalt thou lie. 

call now downe my faire ladye, 

call her downe to mee : 
And tell my ladye gay how sicke, 

And like to die I bee. 60 

Vcr. 32, blond, MS. V. 47, or to-morrow, MS. V. 56, 
bee, MS. 



Downe then came his ladye faire, 

All clad in purple and pall : 
The rings that were on her fingers, 

Cast light thorrow the hall. 

What is your will, my owne wcd-lord? 05 

What is your will with mee? 
see, my ladye deere, how sicke, 

And like to die I bee. 

And thou be sicke, my own wed-lord, 

Soe sore it grieveth me : 70 

But my five maydens and myselfe 
Will ' watch thy' bedde for thee. 

And at the waking of your first sleepe, 

We will a hott drinke make : 
And at the waking of your 'next' sleepe, 75 

Your sorrowes we will slake. 

He put a silk cote on his backe, 

And mail of manye a fold : 
And hee putt a Steele cap on his head, 

Was gilt with good red gold. 80 

He layd a bright browne sword by his side, 

And another att his feete : 
"And twentye good knights he placed at hand, 

To watch him in his sleepe." 

And about the middle time of the night, 85 
Came twentye-four'traitours inn: 

Sir Giles he was the foremost man, 
The leader of that ginn. 

Old Robin with his bright browne sword, 
Sir Gyles head soon did winn : 90 

And scant of all those twenty-four, 
Went out one quick agenn. 

None save only a litle foot-page, 
Crept forth at a window of stone : 

And he had two armes when he came in, 95 
And he went back with one. 

Upp then came that ladie gaye 

With torches burning bright: 
She thought to have brought Sir Gyles a 
drinke, 

Butt she found her owne wedd knight. 100 

Ver. 72, make the, MS. V. 76, first, MS. 



CHILD WATERS. 



337 



The first thinge that she stumhled on 
It was Sir Gyles his foote : 

Sayes, Ever alacke, and woe is mee ! 
Here lyes my sweete hart-roote. 

The next thinge that she stumbled on 
It was Sir Gyles his heade : 

Sayes, Ever, alacke, and woe is me ! 
Heere lyes my true love deade. 

Hee cutt the pappes beside her brest, 

And did her body spille ; 
He cutt the eares beside her heade, 

And bade her love her fille. 



105 



110 



He called then up his litle foot-page, 
And made him there his heyre ; 

And sayd, henceforth my worldlye goodes 
And countrye I forsweare. 116 

He shope the crosse on his right shoulder, 
Of the white ' clothe' and the redde,* 

And went into the holy land, 

Whereas Christe was quicke and dead. 120 

• ; V* In the foregoing piece, Giles, steward 
to a rich old merchant trading to Portugal, 
is qualified with the title of Sir, not as being 
a knight, but rather, I conceive, as having 
received an inferior order of priesthood. 



IX. 



€\\U $9attr& 



Child is frequently used by our old writers, 
as a Title. It is repeatedly given to Prince 
Arthur in the " Faerie Queen :" and the son 
of a king is in the same poem called " Child 
Tristram." [B. 5, c. 11, st. 8, 13.— B. 6, c. 
2, st. 36.— Ibid. c. 8, st. 15.] In an old bal- 
lad quoted in " Shakspeare's King Lear," the 
hero of Ariosto is called Child Roland, Mr. 
Theobald supposes this use of the word was 
received along with their romances from the 
Spaniards, with whom Infante signifies a 
"Prince." A more eminent^ critic tells us, 
that " in the old times of chivalry, the noble 
youth, who were candidates for knighthood, 
during the time of their probation were called 
Infans, Varlets, Damoysels, Bacheliers. The 
most noble of the youth were particularly 
called Infans." [Vid. Warb. Shakesp.] A 
late commentator on Spenser observes, that 
the Saxon word cnihz knight, signifies also a 
"-Child." [See Upton's Gloss, to the F. Q.] 

The Editor's folio MS., whence the follow- 
ing piece is taken (with some corrections), 
affords several other ballads, wherein the 
word Child occurs as a title ; but in none of 
these it signifies " Prince." See the song 
entitled Gill Morrice, in this volume. 

It ought to be observed, that the word 
Child or Chield is still used in North Britain 
to denominate a Man, commonly with some 
contemptuous character afiixed to him, but 
sometimes to denote Man in general. 



Childe Waters in his stable stoode 
And stroakt his milke white steede : 

To him a fayre yonge ladye came 
As ever ware womans weede. 

Sayes, Christ you save, good Childe Waters ; 

Sayes, Christ you save, and see : 6 

My girdle of gold that was too longe, 

Is now too short for mee. 



And all is with one chyld of yours, 

I feele sturre att my side : 
My gowne of greene it is too straighte 

Before, it was too wide. 



10 



If the child be mine, faire Ellen, he sayd, 

Be mine as you tell mee ; 
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, 

Take them your owne to bee. 16 

If the childe be mine, faire Ellen, he sayd, 

Be mine, as you doe sweare: 
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, 

And make that child your heyre. 20 



Ver. 118, fleahe, MS. V. 13, be inne, MS. 

* Every person, who went on a Croisade to the Holy 
Land, usually wore a cross on his upper garment, on the 
right shoulder, as a badge of his profession. Different na- 
tions were distinguished by crosses of different colours : 
The English wore white ; the French red ; &c. This cir- 
cumstance seems to be confounded in the ballad. [V. Spel- 
man, Gloss.] 



338 



CHILD WATERS. 



Shee saies, I had rather have one kisse, 

Child Waters, of thy mouth ; 
Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire 
both, 

That lye by north and south. 

And I had rather have one twinkling, 25 

Childe AVaters, of thine ee : 
Then I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire 
both, 

To take them mine owne to bee. 

To morrow, Ellen, I must forth ryde 
Farr into the north countrie ; 30 

The fairest lady that I can find, 
Ellen, must goe with mee. 



' Thoughe I am not that lady fayre, 
Yet let me goe with thee :' 

And ever I pray you, Child Waters, 
Your foot-page let me bee. 



35 



If you will my foot-page be, Ellen, 

As you doe tell to mee ; 
Then you must cut your gowne of greene, 

An inch above your knee : 40 

Soe must you doe your yellowe lockes, 

An inch above your ee : 
You must tell no man what is my name ; 

My foot-page then you shall bee. 

Shee, all the long day Child Waters rode, 45 

Ran barefoote by his side ; 
Yett was he never soe courteous a knighte, 

To say, Ellen, will you ryde ? 

Shee, all the long day Child Waters rode, 
Ran barefoote thorow the broome ; 50 

Yett hee was never so curteous a knighte, 
To say, put on your shoone. 

Ride softlye, shee sayd, Childe Waters, 

Why doe you ryde soe fast ? 
The childe, which is no mans but thine, 55 

My bodye itt will brast. 

Hee sayth, seest thou yonder water, Ellen, 
That flows from banke to brimme. — 

I trust to God, Child Waters, 

You never will see* mee swimme. 60 

* i. e. permit, suffer, &c. 



But when shee came to the waters side, 

Shee sayled to the chinne : 
Except the Lord of heaven be my speed, 

Now must I learne to swimme. 65 

The salt waters bare up her clothes ; 

Our Ladye bare upp her chinne : 
Childe Waters was a woe man, good Lord, 

To see faire Ellen swimme. 

And when shee over the water was, 

Shee then came to his knee : 70 

He said, Come hither, thou faire Ellen, 
Loe yonder what I see. 

Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen ? 

Of redd gold shines the yate : 
Of twenty foure faire ladyes there, 75 

The fairest is my mate. 

Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen ? 

Of redd gold shines the towre : 
There are twenty four faire ladyes there, 

The fairest is my paramoure. 80 

I see the hall now, Child Waters, 

Of redd gold shines the yate : 
God give you good now of yourselfe, 

And of your worthye mate. 

I see the hall now, Child Waters, 85 

Of redd golde shines the towre : 

God give you good now of yourselfe, 
And of your paramoure. 

There twenty four fayre ladyes were 
A playing att the ball : 90 

And Ellen the fairest ladye there, 
Must bring his steed to the stall. 

There twenty four fayre ladyes were 

A playinge at the chesse ; 
And Ellen the fayrest ladye there, 95 

Must bring his horse to gresse. 

And then bespake Childe Waters sister, 
These were the wordes said shee : 

You have the prettyest foot-page, brother, 
That ever I saw with mine ee. 100 

But that his bellye it is soe bigg, 

His girdle goes wondrous hie : 
And let him, I pray you, Childe Waters, 

Goe into the chamber with mee. 



Ver. 84, woldlye, MS. 



CHILD WATERS. 



339 



It is not fit for a little foot-page, 105 

That has run throughe mosse and myre, 

To go into the chamber with any ladye, 
That weares soe riche attyre. 

It is more meete for a little foot-page, 
That has run throughe mosse and myre, 

To take his supper upon his knee, 111 

And sitt downe by the kitchen fyer. 

But when they had supped every one, 
To bedd they tooke theyr waye : 

He sayd, come hither, my little foot-page, 
And hearken what I saye. 116 

Goe thee downe into yonder towne, 

And low into the street ; 
The fayrest ladye that thou can finde, 

Hyer her in mine armes to sleepe, 120 
And take her up in thine armes twaine 

For filinge* of her feete. 

Ellen is gone into the towne, 

And low into the streete : 
The fairest ladye that shee cold find, 125 

Shee hyred in his armes to sleepe : 
And tooke her up in her armes twayne, 

For filing of her feete. 

I pray you nowe, good Childe Waters, 
Let me lye at your bedds feete : 

For there is noe place about this house, 130 
Where I may 'sayef a sleepe. 

1 He gave her leave, and faire Ellen 

1 Down at his beds feet lay :' 
This done the nighte drove on apace, 135 

And when it was neare the daye, 

Hee sayd, Rise up, my litle foot-page, 
Give my steede corne and haye ; 

* i. e. defiling. See Warton's Observ. vol. II. p. 158. 
t i. e. essay, attempt. 



And soe doe thou the good black oats, 

To carry inee better awaye. 140 

Up then rose the faire Ellen, 

And gave his steede corne and hay ; 

And soe shee did the good blacke oates, 
To carry him the better away. 

Shee leaned her backe to the manger side, 
And grievouslye did groane : 146 

She leaned her back to the manger side, 
And there shee made her moane. 

And that beheard his mother deere, 

Shee heard her there monand.* 150 

Shee sayd, Rise up, thou Childe Waters, 
I think thee a cursed man. 



For in thy stable is a ghost, 
That grievouslye doth grone : 

Or else some woman labours of childe, 
Shee is soe woe-begone. 



155 



Up then rose Childe Waters soon, 

And did on his shirte of silke ; 
And then he put on his other clothes, 

On his body as white as milke. 160 

And when he came to the stable dore, 

Full still there he did stand, 
That hee mighte heare his fayre Ellen, 

Howe shee made her monand. 

She sayd, Lullabye, mine owne deere child, 
Lullabye, dere child, dere ; 166 

I wold thy father were a king, 
Thy mother layd on a biere. 

Peace now, hee said, good faire Ellen, 
Be of good cheere, I praye ; 170 

And the bridal and the churching both 
Shall bee upon one day. 

* Sic in MS. i. e. moaning, bemoaning, &e. 



340 



PHILLIDA AND CORYDON. 



X. 



JSPifoa aito togam*. 



This Sonnet is given from a small quarto 
MS. in the Editor's possession, written in the 
time of Queen Elizabeth. Another copy of 
it, containing some variations, is reprinted in 
the Muses Library, p. 295, from an ancient 
miscellany, entitled England's Helicon, 1600, 
4to. The author was Nicholas Breton, a 
writer of some fame in the reign of Eliza- 
beth ; who also published an interlude, enti- 
tled "An old man's lesson and a young man's 
love," 4to., and many other little pieces in 
prose and verse, the titles of which may be 
seen in Winstanley, Ames' Typog., and Os- 
borne's Harl. Catalog., &c. — He is mentioned 
with great respect by Mercs, in his second 
part of "Wit's Commonwealth," 1598, f. 
283, and is alluded to in Beaumont and 
Fletcher's " Scornful Lady," Act 2, and again 
in " Wit without Money," Act 3.— See Whal- 
ley's Ben Jonson, vol. III., p. 103. 

The present Edition is improved by a copy 
in " England's Helicon," vol. III., edit. 1614, 
8vo. 

In the merrie moneth of Maye, 
In a morne by break of daye, 
With a troope of damselles playing 
Forthe ' I yode' forsooth a maying : 

When anon by a wood side, 5 

Where as Maye was in his pride, 
I espied all alone 
Phillida and Corydon. 

Much adoe there was, god wot ; 

He wold love, and she wold not. 10 

She sayde, never man was trewe ; 

He sayes, none was false to you. 

He sayde, hee had lovde her longe : 
She sayes, love should have no wronge. 
Corydon wold kisse her then : 15 

She sayes, maydes must kisse no men, 

Tyll they doe for good and all. 
When she made the shepperde call 
All the heavens to wytnes truthe, 
Never loved a truer youthe. 20 

Then with manie a prettie othe, 
Yea and nay, and faith and trothe ; 

Yer. 4, tho wode, MS. 



Suche as seelie shepperdes use 
When they will not love abuse ; 

Love, that had bene long deluded, 25 
Was with kisses sweete concluded ; 
And Phillida with garlands gaye 
Was made the lady of the Maye. 

fit The foregoing little pastoral of " Phil- 
lida and Corydon" is one of the songs in 
" The Honoui-able Entertainment gieven to 
the Queenes Majestie in Progresse at Elve- 
tham in Hampshire, by the II. II. the Earle 
of Hertford, 1591," 4to. [Printed by Wolfe. 
No name of author.] See in that pamphlet, 

" The thirde daies entertainment. 

" On Wednesday morning about 9 o'clock, 
as her Majestie opened a casement of her 
gallerie window, ther were 3 excellent musi- 
tians, who being disguised in auncient coun- 
try attire, did greete her with a pleasant song 
of ' Corydon and Phillida,' made in three 
parts of purpose. The song, as well for the 
worth of the dittie, as the aptnesse of the 
note thereto applied, it pleased her Highnesse 
after it had been once sung to command it 
againe, and highly to grace it with her cheere- 
full acceptance and commendation. 

" The Plowman's Song. 
"In the merrie month of May, &c" 

The splendour and magnificence of Eliza- 
beth's reign is no where more strongly 
painted than in these little diaries of some! 
of her summer excursions to the houses of 
her nobility ; nor could a more acceptable 
present be given to the world, than a republi- 
cation of a select number of such details as 
this of the entertainment at Elvetham, that 
at Killingworth, &c, &c, which so strongly 
mark the spirit of the times, and present us 
with scenes so very remote from modern 
manners. 

*** Since the above was written, the Pub- 
lic hath been gratified with a most complete 
work on the foregoing subject, entitled " The 
Progresses and Public Processions of Queen 
Elizabeth, &c. By John Nichols, F. A. S., 
Edinb. and Perth, 1788," 2 vols., 4to. 



LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD. 



341 



XI. 



Jittle gfospto an& fnty graft. 



This ballad is ancient, and has been popu- 
lar; we find it quoted in many old plays. 
See Beaum. and Fletcher's Knight of the 
Burning Pestle, 4to., 1613, Act 5. The Va- 
rietie, a comedy, 12mo., 1G49, Act 4, &c. 
In Sir William Davenant's play, "The Witts," 
Act 3, a gallant thus boasts of himself: 

" Limber and sound ! besides I sing Mus- 
grave, 
And for Chevy-chace no lark comes near 
mee." 

In the Pepys Collection, vol. III., p. 314, is 
an imitation of this old song, in 33 stanzas, 
by a more modern pen, with many alterations, 
but evidently for the worse. 

This is given from an old printed copy in 
the British Museum, with corrections ; some 
of which are from a fragment in the Editor's 
folio MS. It is also printed in Dryden's 
Collection of Miscellaneous Poems. 

As it fell out on a highe holye daye, 

As many bee in the yeare, 
When yong men and maides together do goe, 

Their masses and mattins to heare, 

Little Musgrave came to the church door, 5 

The priest was at the mass ; 
But he had more mind of the fine women, 

Then he had of our Ladyes grace. 

And some of them were clad in greene, 
And others were clad in pall ; 10 

And then came in my Lord Barnardes wife, 
The fairest among them all. 



Shee cast an eye on little Musgrave 
As bright as the summer sunne : 

then bethought him little Musgrave, 
This ladyes heart I have wonne. 



15 



Quoth she, I have loved thee, little Musgrave, 

Fulle long and manye a daye. 
So have I loved you, ladye faire, 

Yet word I never durst saye. 20 



I have a bower at Bucklesford-bury,* 

Full daintilye bedight, 
If thoult wend thither, my little Musgrave, 

Thoust lig in mine armes all night. 

Quoth hee, I thanke yee, ladye faire, 25 

This kindness yee shew to mee ; 

And whether it be to my weale or woe, 
This night will I lig with thee. 

All this beheard a litle foot-page, 

By his ladyes coach as he ranne : 30 

Quoth he, thoughe I am my ladyes page, 

Yet Ime my Lord Barnardes manne. 

My Lord Barnard shall knowe of this, 

Although I lose a limbe. 
And ever whereas the bridges were broke, 

He layd him downe to swimme. 36 

Asleep or awake, thou Lord Barnard, 

As thou art a man of life, 
Lo ! this same night at Bucklesford-Bury 

Litle Musgrave's in bed with thy wife. 40 

If it be trew, thou litle foote-page, 

This tale thou hast told to mee, 
Then all my lands in Bucklesford-Bury 

I freelye will give to thee. 

But and it be a lye, thou litle foot-page, 45 

This tale thou hast told to mee, 
On the highest tree in Bucklesford-Bury 

All hanged shalt thou bee. 

Rise up, rise up, my merry men all, 

And saddle me my good steede ; 50 

This night must I to Bucklesford-Bury ; 
God wott, I had never more neede. 

Then some they whistled, and some they 
sang, 

And some did loudlye saye, 
Whenever Lord Barnardes borne it blewe, 

Awaye, Musgrave, away. 56 

* Bucldefidd-herry, fol. MS. 



342 



LITTLE MUSGRAVB AND LADY BARNARD. 



Methinkes I heare the throstle cocke, 

Methiakes I heare the jay, 
Methinkes I heare Lord Barnards home ; 

I would I were awaye. 60 

Lye still, lye still, thou little Musgrave, 

And huggle me from the cold ; 
For it is but some shephardes boye 

A whistling his sheepe to the fold. 

Is not thy hawke upon the pearche, 65 

Thy horse eating corne and haye ? 

And thou a gay lady within thine armes : 
And wouldst thou be awaye ? 

By this Lord Barnard was come to the dore, 
And lighted upon a stone : 70 

And he pulled out three silver keyes, 
And opened the dores eche one. 

lie lifted up the coverlett, 

He lifted up the sheete ; 
How now, how now, thou little Musgrave, 75 

Dost find my gaye ladye sweete ? 

I find her sweete, quoth little Musgrave, 
The more is my griefe and paine ; 

Ide gladlye give three hundred poundes 
That I were on yonder plaine. 80 

Arise, arise, thou little Musgrave, 

And put thy cloathes nowe on, 
It shall never be said in my countree, 

That I killed a naked man. 



I have two swordes in one scabbarde, 
Full deare they cost my purse ; 

And thou shalt have the best of them, 
And I will have the worse. 



85 



Ver. 64, Is whistling sheepe ore the mold, fol. MS. 



The first stroke that little Musgrave strucke, 
He hurt Lord Barnard sore ; 90 

The next stroke that Lord Barnard strucke, 
Little Musgrave never strucke more. 

With that bespake the ladye faire, 

In bed whereas she laye, 
Althoughe thou art dead, my little Musgrave, 

Yet for the I will praye : 96 

And wishe well to thy soule will I, 

So long as I have life ; 
So will I not do for thee, Barnard, 

Thoughe I am thy wedded wife. 100 

He cut her pappes from off her brest ; 

Great pitye it was to see 
The drops of this fair ladyes bloode 

Run trickling downe her knee. 

Wo worth, wo worth ye, my merrye men all, 
You never were borne for my goode : 106 

Why did you not offer to stay my hande, 
When you sawe me wax so woode ? 

For I have slaine the fairest sir knighte, 
That ever rode on a steede ; 110 

So have I done the fairest lady, 
That ever ware womans weede. 

A grave, a grave, Lord Barnard cryde, 

To putt these lovers in ; 
But lay my ladye o' the upper hande, 115 

For shee comes o' the better kin. 

flf That the more modern copy is to be 
dated about the middle of the last century, 
will be readily conceived from the tenor of 
the concluding stanza, viz. 

" This said Mischief by Lust was wrought ; 

Then let us call for Grace 
That we may shun the wicked vice, 

And fly from Sin a-pace." 



THE KNIGHT, AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER. 


343 


XII. 




I \t tfto-gtt#*, SJaximt. 




A SCOTTISH SONG. 




This sonnet appears to be ancient: that 


Ive nine milk-ews, my Marion, 




and its simplicity of sentiment have recom- 


A cow and a brawney quay ; 




mended it to a place here. 


Ise gie tham au to my Marion, 






Just on her bridal day. 


20 


Will ze gae to the ew-bughts, Marion, 


And zees get a grein sey apron, 




And wear in the sheip wi' mee ? 


And waistcote o' London broun ; 




The sun shines sweit, my Marion, 


And wow bot ze will be vaporing 




But nae half sae sweit as thee. 


Quhaneir ze gang to the toun. 




Marion's a bonnie lass ; 5 






And the blyth blinks in her ee : 






And fain wad I marrie Marion, 






Gin Marion wad marrie mee. 


Ime yong and stout, my Marion, 
None dance lik mee on the greine ; 


25 


Theire's gowd in zour garters, Marion ; 


And gin ze forsak me, Marion, 




And siller on zour white hauss-bane :* 


Ise een gae draw up wi' Jeane. 




Fou faine wad I kisse my Marion 11 


Sae put on zour pearlins, Marion, 




At eene quhan I cum hame. 


And kirtle oth' cramasie, 


30 


Theire's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion, 


And sune as my chin has nae haire on, 




Quha gape and glowr wi' their ee 


I sail cum west, and see zee. 




At kirk, quhan they see my Marion ; 15 






Bot nane of them lues like mee. 






XI 


II. 




f Ije Jtmgjjt, anlif %$rflfo'8 Jawjlriw. 




This ballad (given from an old black letter 


Good morrowe to you, beauteous maide, 5 


Copy, with some corrections) was popular in 


These words pronounced hee : 




the time of Queen Elizabeth, being usually 


I shall dye this daye, he sayd, 




printed with her picture before it, as Hearne 


If Ive not my wille of thee. 




informs us in his preface to "Gul. Neubrig, 






Hist. Oxon, 1719, 8vo., vol. I., p. lxx." It is 


The Lord forbid, the maide replyd, 




quoted in Fletcher's comedy of the Pilgrim, 


That you shold waxe so wode ! 


10 


Act 4, sc. 1. 


1 But for all that shee could do or saye 
He wold not be withstood.' 




There was a shepherds daughter 


Sith you have had your wille of mee, 




Came tripping on the waye ; 
And there by chance a knighte shee mett, 
"Which caused her to staye. 


And put me to open shame, 
Now, if you are a courteous knighte, 
Tell me what is your name ? 

Some do call mee Jacke, sweet heart, 


15 


*Hauss-bane, i. e. The neck-bone. Marion had probably 


a silver locket on, tied close to her neck with a ribband, an 


And some do call mee Jille ; 




usual ornament in Scotland ; where a sore throat is called 






" a sair ?iause," properly halse. 


But when I come to the kings faire courte 


44 


They call me Wilfulle Wille. 


20 



344 



THE KNIGHT, AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER. 



He sett his foot into the stirrup, 

And awaye then he did ride ; 
She tuckt her girdle ahout her middle, 

And ranne close by his side. 

But when she came to the hrode water, 25 
She sett her brest and swamme ; 

And when she was got out againe, 
She tooke to her heels and ranne. 

He never was the courteous knighte, 
To saye, faire maide, will ye ride ? 30 

And she was ever too loving a maide 
To saye, sir knighte abide. 

When she came to the kings faire courte, 

She knocked at the ring ; 
So readye was the king himself 35 

To lett this faire maide in. 

Now Christ you save, my gracious liege, 

Now Christ you save and see, 
You have a knighte within your courte 

This daye hath robbed mee. 40 

What hath he robbed thee of, sweet heart? 

Of purple or of pall ? 
Or hath he took thy gaye gold ring 

From off thy linger small ? 

He hath not robbed mee, my leige, 45 

Of purple nor of pall : 
But he hath gotten my maiden head, 

Which grieves mee worst of all. 

Now if he be a batchelor, 

His bodye He give to thee ; 50 

But if he be a married man, 

High hanged he shall bee. 

He called downe his merrye men all, 

By one, by two, by three ; 
Sir William used to bee the first, 55 

But nowe the last came hee. 

He brought her downe full fortye pounde, 

Tyed up withinne a glove : 
Faire maide, He give the same to thee ; 

Go, seeke thee another love. 60 

Ver. 50, His bodye Tie give to thee.] This was agreeablo 
to the feudal customs : the lord had a right to give a wife 
to his vassals. See Shakspeare's "All's well that ends 
well." 



O He have none of your gold, she sayde, 

Nor He have none of your fee ; 
But your faire bodye I must have, 

The king hath granted mee. 

Sir William ranne and fetchd her then 65 

Five hundred pound in golde, 
Saying, faire maide, take this to thee, 

Thy fault will never be tolde-. 

Tis not the gold that shall mee tempt, 
These words then answered shee, 70 

But your own bodye I must have, 
The king hath granted mee. 

Would I had dranke the water cleare, 

When I did drinke the wine, 
Rather than any shepherds brat 75 

Shold bee a ladye of mine ! 

Would I had drank the puddle foule, 

When I did drink the ale, 
Rather than ever a shepherds brat 

Shold tell me such a tale ! 80 

A shepherds brat even as I was, 

You mote have let me bee, 
I never had come othe kings faire courte, 

To crave any love of thee. 

He sett her on a milk-white steede, 85 

And himself upon a graye ; 
He hung a bugle about his necke, 

And soe they rode awaye. 

But when they came unto the place, 
Where marriage-rites were done, 90 

She proved herself a dukes daughter, 
And he but a squires sonne. 

Now marrye me, or not, sir knight, 

Your pleasure shall be free : 
If you make me ladye of one good towne, 

He make you lord of three. 96 

Ah ! curst bee the gold, he sayd, 
If thou hadst not been trewe, 

I shold have forsaken my sweet love, 
And have changed her for a newe. 100 

And now their hearts being linked fast, 

They joyned hand in hande: 
Thus he had both purse, and person too, 

And all at his commande. 



LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELINOR. 



545 



XIV. 



%\t %\t$$tii Juitos in \\% Ita. 



This Poem, originally printed from the 
small MS. volume mentioned above in No. 
X., has been improved by a more perfect 
copy in "England's Helicon," where the 
author is discovered to be N. Breton. 

Good Muse, rocke me aslepe 
With some sweete harmony : 

This wearie eyes is not to kepe 
Thy wary company. 

Sweete Love, begon a while, 5 

Thou seest my heavines : 
Beautie is borne but to beguyle 

My harte of happines. 

See howe my little flocke, 

That lovde to feede on highe, 10 

Doe headlonge tumble downe the rocke, 

And in the valley dye. 



The bushes and the trees, 

That were so freshe and greene, 
Doe all their deintie colors leese, 

And not a leafe is seene. 

The blacke birde and the thrushe, 
That made the woodes to ringe, 



15 



With all the rest, are now at hushe, 
And not a note they singe. 20 

Swete Philomele, the birde 
That hath the heavenly throte, 

Doth nowe, alas ! not once afforde 
Recordinge of a note. 

The flowers have had a frost, 25 

The herbs have loste their savoure ; 

And Phillida the faire hath lost 
' For me her wonted' favour. 



Thus all these careful sights 

So kill me in conceit : 
That now to hope upon delights, 

It is but meere deceite. 



30 



And therefore, my sweete muse, 
That knowest what helpe is best, 

Doe nowe thy heavenlie conninge use 
To sett my harte at rest : 35 

And in a dreame bewraie 

What fate shal be my frende ; 

Whether my life shall still decaye, 
Or when my sorrowes ende. 40 



XV. 



$0rtr %\mn n\ $m dEImar, 



— Is given (with corrections) from an ancient 
copy in black-letter, in the Pepys collection, 
entitled "A tragical ballad on the unfortu- 
nate love of Lord Thomas and fair Ellinor, 
together with the downfall of the browne 
girl." — In the same collection may be seen 
an attempt to modernize this old song, and 
reduce it to a different measure: a proof of 
its popularity. 

Lord Thomas he was a bold forrester, 
And a chaser of the kings deere ; 

Faire Ellinor was a fine woman, 

And Lord Thomas he loved his deare. 



Come riddle my riddle, dear mother, he sayd, 
And riddle us both as one ; 6 

Whether I shall marrye with faire Ellinor, 
And let the browne girl alone ? 

The browne girl she has got houses and lands, 
Fair Ellinor she has got none, 10 

And therefore I charge thee on my blessing, 
To bring me the browne girl home. 

And as it befelle on a high holidaye, 

As many there are beside, 
Lord Thomas he went to faire Ellinor, 15 

That should have been her bride. 



346 



LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELINOR. 



And when he came to faire Ellinors bower, 

He knocked there at the ring, 
And who was so ready as faire Ellinor, 

To lett Lord Thomas withinn. 20 

What uewes, what newes, Lord Thomas, she 
sayd ? 

What newes dost thou bring to mee? 
I am come to bid thee to my wedding, 

And that is bad news for thee. 

God forbid, Lord Thomas, she sayd, 25 
That such a thing should be done ; 

1 thought to have been the bride my selfe, 
And thou to have been the bridegrome. 

Come riddle my riddle, dear mother, she sayd, 
And riddle it all in one ; 30 

Whether I shall goe to Lord Thomas his 
wedding, 
Or whether shall tarry at home ? 

There are manye that are your friendes, 
daughter, 

And manye a one your foe, 
Therefore I charge you on my blessing, 35 

To Lord Thomas his wedding don't goe. 

There are manye that are my friendes, mo- 
ther; 

But were every one my foe, 
Betide me life, betide me death, 

To Lord Thomas his wedding I'ld goe. 40 

She cloathed herself in gallant attire, 
And her merrye men all in greene ; 

And as they rid through every towne, 
They took her to be some queene. 

But when she came to Lord Thomas his gate, 
She knocked there at the ring ; 46 

Ver. 29, It should probably be Reade me, read, &c, i. e. 
Advise me, advise. 



And who was so readye as Lord Thomas, 
To lett faire Ellinor in. 

Is this your bride, fair Ellinor sayd ? 

Methinks she looks wonderous browne ; 50 
Thou mightest have had as faire a woman, 

As ever trode on the grounde. 



Despise her not, fair Ellin, he sayd, 
Despise her not unto mee ; 

For better I love thy little finger, 
Than all her whole bodee. 



55 



This browne bride had a little penknife, 
That was both long and sharpe, 

And betwixt the short ribs and the long, 
She prick'd faire Ellinor's harte. 60 

O Christ thee save, Lord Thomas hee sayd, 
Methinkst thou lookst wondrous wan ; 

Thou usedst to look with as fresh a colour, 
As ever the sun shone on. 

Oh, art thou blind, Lord Thomas ? she sayd, 
Or canst thou not very well see ? 66 

Oh ! dost thou not see my owne hearts bloode 
Run trickling down my knee. 

Lord Thomas he had a sword by his side ; 

As he walked about the halle, 70 

He cut off his brides head from her shoul- 
ders, 

And threwe it against the walle. 

He set the hilte against the grounde, 
And the point against his harte. 

There never three lovers together did meete, 
That sooner againe did parte. 76 

*#* The reader will find a Scottish song 
on a similar subject to this, towards the end 
of this volume, entitled "Lord Thomas and 
Lady Annet." 



XVI. 



Cttpifc anft &ampsp. 



This elegant little sonnet is found in the 
third act of an old play, entitled "Alexander 
and Campaspe," written by John Lilye, a 
celebrated writer in the time of Queen Eliza- 
beth. That play was first printed in 1591 : 
but this copy is given from a later edition. 

Cupid and my Campaspe playd 
At cardes for kisses ; Cupid payd : 
He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, 
His mothers doves, and teame of sparrows ; 



Loses them too ; then down he throws 
The coral of his Hppe, the rose 
Growing on's cheek (but none knows how), 
"With these, the crystal of his browe, 
And then the dimple of his chinne ; 
All these did my Campaspe winne. 
At last he set her both his eyes, 
She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 

Love ! has she done this to thee ? 

What shall, alas ! become of mee ? 



XVII. 



%\t fafcg trail Stftoing-lfett. 



— Is given from a written copy, containing 
some improvements (perhaps modern ones), 
upon the popular ballad, entitled, " The fa- 
mous flower of Serving-men ; or the Lady 
turned Serving-man." 

You beauteous ladyes, great and small,' 
I write unto you one and all, 
"Whereby that you may understand 
What I have suffered in the land. 

I was by birth a lady faire, 5 

An ancient barons only heire, 
And when my good old father died, 
Then I became a young knightes bride. 

And there my love built me a bower, 
Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower ; 10 
A braver bower you ne'er did see 
Than my true love did build for mee. 

And there I livde a ladye gay, 

Till fortune wrought our loves decay ; 

For there came foes so fierce a band, 15 

That soon they over-run the land. 

They came upon us in the night, 

And brent my bower, and slew my knight ; 



And trembling hid in mans array, 

I scant with life escaped away. 20 

In the midst of this extremitle, 
My servants all did from me flee : 
Thus was I left myself alone, 
With heart more cold than any stone. 

Yet though my heart was full of care, 25 
Heaven would not suffer me to dispaire, 
Wherefore in haste I chang'd my name 
From fair Elise, to sweet Williame : 

And therewithall I cut my haire, 
Resolv'd my man's attire to weare ; 30 

And in my beaver, hose and band, 
I travell'd far through many a land. 

At length all wearied with my toil, 

I sate me down to rest awhile ; 

My heart it was so fill'd with woe, 35 

That downe my cheeke the teares did flow. 

It chanc'd the king of that same place 
With all his lords a hunting was, 
And seeing me weepe, upon the same 
Askt who I was, and whence I came. 40 



348 



THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN. 



Then to his grace I did replye, 
I am a poore and friendlesse boye, 
Though nobly borne, nowe fore'd to bee 
A serving-man of lowe degree. 

Stand up, faire youth, the king reply'd, 
For thee a service I'll provyde ; 
But tell me first what thou canst do ; 
Thou shalt be fitted thereunto. 

Wilt thou be usher of my hall, 
To wait upon my nobles all ? 
Or wilt be taster of my wine, 
To 'tend on me when I shall dine? 

Or wilt thou be my chamberlaine, 
About my person to remaine ? 
Or wilt thou be one of my guard, 
And I will give thee great reward ? 

Chuse, gentle youth, said he, thy place. 
Then I reply'd, If it please your grace, 
To shew such favour unto mee, 
Tour chamberlaine I faine would bee. 

The king then smiling gave consent, 
And straitwaye to his court I went ; 
Where I behavde so faithfullle, 
That hee great favour showd to mee. 

Now marke what fortune did provide ; 
The king he would a hunting ride 
With all his lords and noble traine, 
Sweet William must at home remaine. 

Thus being left alone behind, 
My former state came in my mind : 
I wept to see my mans array ; 
No longer now a ladye gay. 

And meeting with a ladyes vest, 
Within the same myself I drest; 
With silken robes and jewels rare, 
I deckt me, as a ladye faire : 

And taking up a lute straitwaye, 
Upon the same I strove to play ; 
And sweetly to the same did sing, 
As made both hall and chamber ring. 

" My father was as brave a lord, 
As ever Europe might afford ; 
My mother was a lady bright : 
My husband was a valiant knight : 



45 



50 



55 



60 



65 



70 



75 



80 



" And I myself a ladye gay 85 

Bedeekt with gorgeous rich array ; 
The happiest lady in the land 
Had not more pleasure at command. 

" I had my musicke every day 
Harmonious lessons for to play ; 90 

I had my virgins fair and free 
Continually to wait on mee. 

" But now, alas ! my husband's dead, 
And all my friends are from me fled, 
My former days are past and gone, 95 

And I am now a serving-man." 

And fetching many a tender sigh, 

As thinking no one then was nigh, 

In pensive mood I laid me lowe, 

My heart was full, the tears did flowe. 100 

The king, who had a huntinge gone, 
Grewe weary of his sport anone, 
And leaving all his gallant traine, 
Turn'd on the sudden home againe : 

And when he reach'd his statelye tower, 105 
Hearing one sing within his bower, 
He stopt to listen, and to see 
Who sung there so melodiouslle. 

Thus heard he everye word I sed, 
And saw the pearlye teares I shed, 110 

And found to his amazement there, 
Sweete William was a ladye faire. 

Then stepping in, Faire ladye rise, 

And dry, said he, those lovelye eyes, 

For I have heard thy mournful tale, 115 

The which shall turn to thy availe. 

A crimson dye my face orespred, 

I blusht for shame, and hung my head, 

To find my sex and story knowne, 

When as I thought I was alone. < 120 

But to be briefe, his royall grace 
Grewe so enamour'd of my face, 
The richest gifts he proffered mee, 
His mistress if that I would bee. 

\ 
Ah ! no, my liege, I firmlye sayd, 125 

I'll rather in my grave be layd, 
And though your grace hath won my heart, 
I ne'er will act soe base a part. 



GIL MORRICE. 



549 



Faire ladye, pardon me, sayd hee, 
Thy virtue shall rewarded bee, 
And since it is soe fairly tryde, 
Thou shalt become my royal bride. 



130 



Then strait to end his amorous strife, 
He tooke sweet William to his wife. 
The like before was never seene, 
A serving-man became a queene. 



135 



XVIII. 

A SCOTTISH BALLAD. 



The following piece hath run through two 
editions in Scotland : the second was printed 
at Glasgow in 1755, 8vo. Prefixed to them 
both is an advertisement, setting forth that 
the preservation of this poem was owing " to 
a lady, who favoured the printers with a 
copy, as it was carefully collected from the 
mouths of old women and nurses ;" and " any 
reader that can render it more correct or 
complete," is desired to oblige the public with 
such improvements. In consequence of this 
advertisement, sixteen additional verses have 
been produced and handed about in manu- 
script, which are here inserted in their pro- 
per places : (these are from verse 109 to verse 
121, and from verse 124 to verse 129, but are 
perhaps, after all, only an ingenious interpo- 
lation.) 

As this poem lays claim to a pretty high 
antiquity, we have assigned it a place among 
our early pieces : though, after all, there is 
reason to believe it has received very consi- 
derable modern improvements : for in the 
Editor's ancient MS. collection is a very old 
imperfect copy of the same ballad : wherein 
though the leading features of the story are 
the same, yet the colouring here is so much 
improved and heightened, and so many addi- 
tional strokes are thrown in, that it is evi- 
dent the whole has undergone a revisal. 

N. B. The Editor's MS., instead of " Lord 
Barnard," has " John Stewart ;" and instead 
of " Gil Morrice," " Child Maurice," which 
last is probably the original title. See above, 
p. 337. 

Gil Morrice was an erles son, 

His name it waxed wide ; 
It was nae for his great riches, 

Nor zet his mickle pride ; 



Bot it was for a lady gay, 
That livd on Carron side. 

Quhair sail I get a bonny boy, 

That will win hose and shoen ; 
That will gae to Lord Barnards ha', 

And bid his lady cum? 
And ze maun rin my errand, Willie ; 

And ze may rin wi' pride ; 
Quhen other boys gae on their foot, 

On horse-back ze sail ride. 



10 



15 



no ! oh no ! my master dear ! 

I dare nae for my life ; 
I'll no gae to the bauld barons, 

For to triest furth his wife. 
My bird Willie, my boy Willie ; 

My dear Willie, he sayd : 20 

How can ze strive against the stream ? 

For I sail be obeyd. 

Bot, my master dear ! he cryd, 
In grene wod ze're zour lain ; 

Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ze rede, 25 
For fear ze should be tain. 

Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha', 
Bid hir cum here wi speid : 

If ze refuse my heigh command, 
111 gar zour body bleid. 30 

Gae bid hir take this gay mantel, 

"lis a' gowd bot the hem ; 
Bid hir cum to the gude grene wode, 

And bring nane bot hir lain : 
And there it is, a silken sarke, 35 

Hir ain hand sewd the sleive ; 
And bid hir cum to Gill Morice, 

Speir nae bauld barons leave. 

Ver. 11, something seems wanting here. V. 32, and 68, 
perhaps, 'bout the hem. 



350 



GIL MORRICE 



Yes, I will gae zour black errand, 

Though it be to zour cost ; 
Sen ze by me will nae be warn'd, 

In it ze sail find frost. 
The baron he is a man of might, 

He neir could bide to taunt, 
As ze will see before its nicht, 

How sma' ze hae to vaunt. 



40 



45 



And sen I maun zour errand rin 

Sae sair against my will ; 
I'se mak a vow and keip it trow, 

It sail be done for ill. 50 

And quhen he came to broken brigue, 

He bent his bow and swam ; 
And quhen he came to grass growing, 

Set down his feet and ran. 

And quhen he came to Barnards ha', 55 

Would neither chap nor ca': 
Bot set his bent bow to his breist, 

And lichtly lap the wa\ 
He wauld nae tell the man his errand, 

Though he stude at the gait ; 60 

Bot straiht into the ha' he cam, 

Quhair they were set at meit. 

Hail ! hail ! my gentle sire and dame ! 

My message winna waite ; 
Dame, ze maun to the gude grene wod 65 

Before that it be late. 
Ze're bidden tak this gay mantel, 

Tis a' gowd bot the hem : 
Zou maun gae to the gude grene wode, 

Ev'n by your sel alane. 70 

And there it is, a silken sarke, 

Your ain hand sewd the sleive ; 
Ze maun gae speik to Gill Morlce : 

Speir nae bauld barons leave. 
The lady stamped wi' hir foot, 75 

And winked wi' hir ee ; 
Bot a' that she coud say or do, 

Forbidden he wad nae bee. 

Its surely to my bow'r-woman ; 

It neir could be to me. 80 

I brocht it to Lord Barnards lady ; 

I trow that ze be she. 
Then up and spack the wylie nurse, 

(The bairn upon hir knee) 
If it be cum frae Gil Morlce, 85 

It's deir welcum to mee. 

Ver. 58, Could this be the wall of the castle 1 



Ze leid, ze leid, ze filthy nurse, 

Sae loud I heird ze lee ; 
I brocht it to Lord Barnards lady ; 

I trow ze be nae shee. 90 

Then up and spack the bauld bardn, 

An angry man was hee ; 
He's tain the table wi' his foot, 

Sae has he wi' his knee ; 
Till siller cup and 'mazer'* dish 95 

In flinders he gard flee. 

Gae bring a robe of zour eliding, 

That hings upon the pin ; 
And I'll gae to the gude grene wode, 

And speik wi' zour lemman. 100 

O bide at hame, now Lord Barnard, 

I warde ze bide at hame ; 
Neir wyte a man for violence, 

That neir wate ze wi' nane. 

Gil Morice state in gude grene wode, 105 

He whistled and he sang : 
O what mean a' the folk coming, 

My mother tarries lang. 
His hair was like the threeds of gold, 

Drawne frae Minerva's loome : 110 

His lipps like roses drapping dew, 

His breath was a' perfume. 

His brow was like the mountain snae 

Gilt by the morning beam : 
His cheeks like living roses glow: 115 

His een like azure stream. 
The boy was clad in robes of grene, 

Sweete as the infant spring : 
And like the mavis on the bush, 

He gart the vallies ring. 120 

The baron came to the grene wode, 

Wi' mickle dule and care, 
And there he first spied Gill Morlce 

Kameing his zellow hair : 
That sweetly wavd around his face, 125 

That face beyond compare : 
He sang sae sweet it might dispel 

A' rage but fell despair. 



V. 88 Perhaps, loud say I heire. 
Ver. 128. So Milton, 

Vernal delight and joy : able to drive 

All sadness but despair. B. iv. v. 155. 

* i. e. a drinking cup of maple : other edit, read ezar. 



GIL MORRICE. 



351 



Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Morice, 

My lady loed thee weel, 130 

The fairest part of my bodie 

Is blacker than thy heel. 
Zet neir the less now, Gill Morice, 

For a' thy great beautie, 
Ze's rew the day ze eir was born ; 135 

That head sail gae wi' me. 

Now he has drawn his trusty brand, 

And slaited on the strae ; 
And thro' Gill Morice' fair body 

He's gar cauld iron gae. 140 

And he has tain Gill Morice' head 

And set it on a speir ; 
The meanest man in a' his train 

Has gotten that head to bear. 

And he has tain Gill Morice up, 145 

Laid him across his steid, 
And brocht him to his painted bowr, 

And laid him on a bed. 
The lady sat on castil wa', 

Beheld baith dale and doun ; 150 

And there she saw Gill Morice' head 

Cum trailing to the toun. 

Far better I loe that bluidy head, 

Both and that zellow hair, 
Than lord Barnard, and a' his lands, 155 

As they lig here and thair. 
And she has tain her Gill Morice, 

And kissd baith mouth and chin : 
I was once as fow of Gill Morice, 

As the hip is o' the stean. 160 



I got ze in my father's house, 

Wi' mickle sin and shame ; 
I brocht thee up in gude grene wode, 

Under the heavy rain. 
Oft have I by thy cradle sitten, 

And fondly seen thee sleip ; 
But now I gae about thy grave, 

The saut tears for to weip. 



165 



And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik, 

And syne his bluidy chin : 
better I loe my Gill Morice 

That a' my kith and kin ! 
Away, away, ze ill woman, 

And an il deith mait ze dee : 
Gin I had kend he'd bin zour son, 

He'd neir bin slain for mee. 
45 

THE END 



170 



175 



Obraid me not, my Lord Barnard ! 

Obraid me not for shame ! 
Wi' that saim speir O pierce my heart ! 

And put me out o' pain. 180 

Since nothing bot Gill Morice head 

Thy jelous rage could quell, 
Let that saim hand now tak hir life, 

That neir to thee did ill. 

To me nae after days nor nichts 185 

Will eir be saft or kind ; 
I'll fill the air with heavy sighs, 

And greet till I am blind. 
Enouch of blood by me's bin spilt, 

Seek not zour death frae mee ; 190 

I rather lourd it had been my sel 

Than eather him or thee. 

With waefo wae I hear zour plaint ; 

Sair, sair I rew the deid, 
That eir this cursed hand of mine 195 

Had gard his body bleid. 
Dry up zour tears, my winsome dame, 

Ze neir can heal the wound ; 
Ze see his head upon the speir, 

His heart's blude on the ground. 200 

I curse the hand that did the deid, 

The heart that thocht the ill ; 
The feet that bore me wi' silk speid, 

The comely zouth to kill. 
I'll ay lament for Gill Morice, 205 

As gin he were mine ain ; 
I'll neir forget the dreiry day 

On which the zouth was slain. 

*#* This little pathetic tale suggested the 
plot of the tragedy of " Douglas." 

Since it was first printed, the Editor has 
been assured that the foregoing ballad is still 
current in many parts of Scotland, where the 
hero is universally known by the name of 
"Child Maurice," pronounced by the common 
people Cheild or Cheeld; which occasioned 
the mistake. 

It may be proper to mention, that other 
copies read ver. 110 thus : 

" Shot frae the golden sun." 
And ver. 116 as follows: 

" His een like azure sheene." 



OF THE FIRST BOOK. 



352 



THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY. 



SERIES THE THIRD. 
BOOK II. 



t\t f tpfc at Sir 6\\\j 



— Contains a short summary of the ex- 
ploits of this famous champion, as recorded 
in the old story books ; and is commonly en- 
titled "A pleasant song of the valiant deeds 
of chivalry achieved by that noble knight Sir 
Guy of "Warwick, who, for the love of fair 
Phelis, became a hormit, and dyed in a cave 
of craggy rocke, a mile distant from War- 
wick." 

The history of Sir Guy, though now very 
properly resigned to children, was once ad- 
mired by all readers of wit and taste : for 
taste and wit had once their childhood. Al- 
though of English growth, it was early a 
favourite with other nations : it appeared in 
French in 1525 ; and is alluded to in the old 
Spanish romance Tirante el bianco, which, it 
is believed, was written not long after the 
year 1430. See advertisement to the French 
translation, 2 vols. 12mo. 

The original whence all these stories are 
extracted is a very ancient romance in old 
English verse, which is quoted by Chaucer as 
a celebrated piece even in his time (viz.), 

" Men speken of romances of price, 
Of Home childe and Ippotis, 
Of Bevis, and Sir Guy, &c." (R. of Thop.) 

and was usually sung to the harp at Christ- 
mas dinners and brideales, as we learn from 
Puttenham's Art of Poetry, 4to., 1589. 

This ancient romance is not wholly lost. 
An imperfect copy in black letter, " Im- 

prynted at London for William Copland," 

in 34 sheets 4to. without date, is still pre- 
served among Mr. Garrick's collection of old 
plays. As a specimen of the poetry of this 
antique rhymer, take his description of the 
dragon mentioned in ver. 105 of the follow- 
ing ballad : 

"A messenger came to the king. 
Syr king, he sayd, lysten me now, 



For bad tydinges I bring you, 

In Northumberlande there is no man, 

But that they be slayne everychone : 

For there dare no man route, 

By twenty myle rounde aboute, 

For doubt of a fowle dragon, 

That sleath men and beastes downe. 

He is blacke as any cole 

Rugged as a rough fole ; 

His bodye from the navill upwarde 

No man may it pierce it is so harde ; 

His neck is great as any summere ; 

He renneth as swifte as any distrere ; 

Pawes he hath as a lyon : 

All that he toucheth he sleath dead downe. 

Great winges he hath to flight, 

That is no man that bare him might. 

There may no man fight him agayne, 

But that he sleath him certayne : 

For a fowler beast then is he, 

Ywis of none never heard ye." 



Sir William Dugdale is of opinion that the 
story of Guy is not wholly apocryphal, though 
he acknowledges the monks have sounded 
out his praises too hyperbolically. In par- 
ticular, he gives the duel fought with the 
Danish champion as a real historical truth, 
and fixes the date of it in the year 926, setat. 
Guy 67. See his Warwickshire. 

The following is written upon the same 
plan as ballad V. Book I., but which is the 
original, and which the copy, cannot be de- 
cided. This song is ancient, as may be in- 
ferred from the idiom preserved in the mar- 
gin, ver. 94, 102 : and was once popular, as 
appears from Fletcher's Knight of the Burn- 
ing Pestle, Act 2, sc. ult. 

It is here published from an ancient MS. 
copy in the Editor's old folio volume, collated 
with two printed ones, one of which is in 
black letter in the Pepys collection. 



THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY. 



353 



Was ever knight for ladyes sake 

Soe tost in love, as I Sir Guy 
For Phelis fayre, that lady bright 

As ever man beheld with eye ? 

She gave me leave myself to try, 5 

The valiant knight with sheeld and speare, 

Ere that her love she wold grant me ; 
Which made mee venture far and neare. 

Then proved I a baron bold, 

In deeds of amies the doughtyest knight 
That in those dayes in England was, 11 

With sworde and speare in fieild to fight. 



An English man I was by birthe : 
In faith of Christ a christyan true : 

The wicked laws of infidells 
I sought by prowesse to subdue. 



15 



' Nine' hundred twenty yeere and odde 
After our Saviour Christ his birth, 

When King Athelstone wore the crowne, 
I lived heere upon the earth. 20 

Sometime I was of Warwicke erle, 

And, as I sayd, of very truth 
A ladyes love did me constraine 

To seeke strange ventures in my youth. 

To win me fame by feates of armes 25 

In strange and sundry heathen lands ; 

Where I atchieved for her sake 

Right dangerous conquests with my hands. 

For first I sayled to Normandye, 

And there I stoutlye wan in fight 30 

The emperours daughter of Almaine, 

From manye a vallyant worthy e knight. 

Then passed I the seas to Greece 
To helpe the emperour in his right ; 

Against the mightye souldans hoaste 35 

Of puissant Persians for to fight. 

Where I did slay of Sarazens, 

And heathen pagans, manye a man ; 

And slew the souldans cozen deere, 

Who had to name doughtye Coldran. 40 

Eskeldered a famous knight 
To death likewise I did pursue: 

And Elmayne King of Tyre alsoe, 
Most terrible in fight to viewe. 

Ver. 9, The proud Sir Guy, PC. V. 17, Two hundred, 
MS. and P. 



I went into the souldans hoast, 45 

Being thither on embassage sent, 

And brought his head awaye with mee ; 
I having slaine him in his tent. 

There was a dragon in that land 

Most fiercely mett me by the waye 50 

As hee a lyon did pursue, 

Which I myself did alsoe slay. 

Then soon I past the seas from Greece, 
And came to Pavye land aright : 

Where I the duke of Pavye killed, 55 

His hainous treason to requite. 

To England then I came with speede, 
To wedd faire Phelis lady bright : 

For love of whome I travelled farr 

To try my manhood and my might. 60 

But when I had espoused her, 
I stayd with her but fortye dayes, 

Ere that I left this ladye faire, 

And went from her beyond the seas. 

All cladd in gray, in pilgrim sort, 65 

My voyage from her I did take 
Unto the blessed Holy-land, 

For Jesus Christ my Saviours sake. 

Where I Erie Jonas did redeeme, 

And all his sonnes, which were fifteene, 70 
Who with the cruell Sarazens 

In prison for long time had beene. 



I slew the gyant Amarant 

In battel fiercelye hand to hand : 

And doughty Barknard killed I, 
A treacherous knight of Pavye land. 



75 



Then I to England came againe, 

And here with Colbronde fell I fought : 

An ugly gyant, which the Danes 

Had for their champion hither brought. 80 

I overcame him in the feild, 

And slew him soone right valiantlye ; 
Wherebye this land I did redeeme 

From Danish tribute utterlye. 



And afterwards I offered upp 
The use of weapons solemnlye 

At Winchester, whereas I fought, 
In sight of manye farr and nye. 



85 



354 



GUY AND AMARANT. 



' But first,' neai-e Winsor, I did slaye 

A bore of passing might and strength ; 90 

Whose like in England never was 

For hugenesse both in bredth and length. 



Some of his bones in Warwicke yett 
Within the castle there doe lye: 

One of his sheeld-bones to this day 
Hangs in the citye of Coventrye. 



95 



On Dunsmore heath I alsoe slewe 
A monstrous wyld and cruell beast, 

Calld the Dun-cow of Dunsmore heath ; 
Which manye people had opprest. 100 

Some of her bones in Warwicke yett 

Still for a monument doe lye, 
And there exposed to lookers viewe 

As wondrous strange, they may espye. 

A dragon in Northumberland 105 

I alsoe did in fight destroye, 
Which did bothe man and beast oppresse, 

And all the countrye sore annoye. 

At length to Warwicke I did come, 

Like pilgrim poore, and was not knowne ; 

And there I lived a hermitts life 111 

A mile and more out of the towne. 



Where with my hands I hewed a house 

Out of a craggy rocke of stone ; 
And lived like a palmer poore 115 

Within that cave myself alone : 

And daylye came to begg my bread, 

Of Phelis att my castle gate ; 
Not knowne unto my loved wiffe, 

Who dailye mourned for her mate. 120 

Till att the last I fell sore sicke, 
Yea sicke soe sore that I must dye ; 

I sent to her a ring of golde, 
By which she knew me presentlye. 

Then shee repairing to the cave 125 

Before that I gave up the ghost ; 

Herself closd up my dying eyes : 
My Phelis faire, whom I lovd most. 

Thus dreadful death did me arrest, 

To bring my corpes unto the grave ; 130 

And like a palmer dyed I, 
Wherby I sought my soule to save. 

My body that endured this toyle, 

Though now it be consumed to mold ; 

My statue fair engraven in stone, 135 

In Warwicke still you may behold. 



II. 



dwg an& ^marant. 



The Editor found this Poem in his ancient 
folio manuscript among the old ballads ; he 
was desirous, therefore, that it should still 
accompany them ; and as it is not altogether 
devoid of merit, its insertion here will be 
pardoned. 

Although this piece seems not imperfect, 
there is reason to believe that it is only a part 
of a much larger poem, which contained the 
whole history of Sir Guy : for, upon compar- 
ing it with the common story book 12mo., 
we find the latter to be nothing more than 
this poem reduced to prose: which is only 
effected by now and then altering the rhyme, 
and throwing out some few of the poetical 
ornaments. The disguise is so slight, that it 

Ver. 94, 102, doth lye, MS. 



is an easy matter to pick complete stanzas in 
any page of that book. 

The author of this poem has shown some 
invention. Though he took the subject from 
the old romance quoted before, he has adorned 
it afresh, and made the story entirely his own. 

Guy journeyes towards that sanctify ed 

ground, 
Whereas the Jewes fayre citye sometime 

stood, 
Wherein our Saviours sacred head was 

crownd, 
And where for sinfull man he shed his 

blood : 
To see the sepulcher was his intent, 
The tombe that Joseph unto Jesus lent. 



GUY AND AMARANT. 



355 



With tedious miles he tyred his wearye feet, 
And passed desart places full of danger, 

At last with a most woefull wight* did meet, 
A man that unto sorrow was noe stranger : 

For he had fifteen sonnes, made captives all 

To slavish bondage, in extremest thrall. 12 

A gyant called Amarant detaind them, 
"Whom noe man durst encounter for his 

strength : 
Who in a castle, which he held, had chaind 

them : 15 

Guy questions, where ? and understands at 

length 
The place not farr. — Lend me thy sword, 

quoth hee, 
He lend my manhood all thy sonnes to free. 

With that he goes, and lays upon the dore, 
Like one that sayes, I must, and will come 
in: 20 

The gyant never was soe rowz'd before : 

For noe such knocking at his gate had bin : 
Soe takes his keyes, and clubb, and cometh 

out, 
Staring with ireful countenance about. 

Sirra, quoth hee, what business hast thou 

heere ? 25 

Art come to feast the crowes about my 

walls? 
Didst never heare, noe ransome can him 

cleere, 
That in the compasse of my furye falls : 
For making me to take a porters paines, 
With this same clubb I will dash out thy 

braines. 30 

Gyant, quoth Guy, y'are quarrelsome I see, 
Choller and you seem very neere of kin : 

Most dangerous at the clubb belike you bee ; 

I have bin better armd, though nowe goe 

thin ; 34 

But shew thy utmost hate, enlarge thy spight, 

Keene is my weapon, and shall doe me right. 

Soe draws his sword, salutes him with the 

same 

About the head, the shoulders, and the 

side: 

Whilst his erected clubb doth death proclaime, 

Standinge with huge Colossus' spacious 

stride, 40 



* Erie Jonas, mentioned in the foregoing ballad. 



Putting such vigour to his knotty beame, 
That like a furnace he did smoke extreame. 

But on the ground he spent his strokes in 
vaine, 

For Guy was nimble to avoyde them still, 
And ever ere he heav'd his clubb againe, 45 

Did brush his plated coat against his will: 
Att such advantage Guy wold never fayle, 
To bang him soundlye in his coate of mayle. 

Att last through thirst the gyant feeble grewe, 

And sayd to Guy, As thou'rt of humane 

race, 50 

Shew itt in this, give natures wants their 

dewe, 

Let me but goe, and drinke in yonder place : 

Thou canst not yeeld to ' me' a smaller thing, 

Than to graunt life, thats given by the spring. 

I graunt thee leave, quoth Guye, goe drink 
thy last, 55 

Goe pledge the dragon, and the salvage 
bore :* 
Succeed the tragedyes that they have past, 

But never thinke to taste cold water more: 
Drinke deepe to death and unto him carouse : 
Bid him receive thee in his earthen house, 60 

Soe to the spring he goes, and slakes his 
thirst ; 
Takeing the water in extremely like 
Some wracked shipp that on a rocke is burst, 
Whose forced hulke against the stone does 
stryke ; 
Scooping it in soe fast with both his hands, 
That Guy admiring to behold it stands. 66 

Come on, quoth Guy, let us to worke againe, 

Thou stayest about thy liquor overlong ; 
The fish, which in the river doe remaine, 
Will want thereby; thy drinking doth them 
wrong : 70 

But I will see their satisfaction made, 
With gyants blood they must, and shall be 
payd. 

Villaine, quoth Amarant, He crush thee 
streight ; 
Thy life shall pay thy daring toungs offence : 

Ter. 64, bulke, MS. and PCO. 
* Which Guy had slain beforei 



356 



GUY AND AMARANT. 



This clubb, which is about some hundred 
weight, 75 

Is deathes commission to dispatch thee 
hence : 

Dresse thee for ravens dyett I must needes ; 

And breake thy bones, as they were made of 
reedes. 

Incensed much by these bold pagan bostes, 

Which worthye Guy cold ill endure to 

heare, 80 

He hewes upon those bigg supporting postes, 

Which like two pillars did his body beare: 

Amarant for those wounds in choller growes 

And desperatelye att Guy his clubb he 

throwes : 

Which did directly on his body light, 85 
Soe violent, and weighty there-withall, 

That downe to ground on sudden came the 
knight ; 
And, ere he cold recover from the fall, 

The gyant gott his clubb againe in fist, 89 

And aimd a stroke that wonderfullye mist. 

Traytor, quoth Guy, thy falshood He repay, 
This coward act to intercept my bloode. 

Sayes Amarant, He murther any way, 
With enemyes all vantages are good : 

could I poyson in thy nostrills blowe, 95 

Besure of it I wold dispatch thee soe. 

Its well, said Guy, thy honest thoughts ap- 
peare, 
Within that beastlye bulke where devills 
dwell ; 
Which are thy tenants while thou livest 
heare, 
But will be landlords when thou comest in 
hell : 100 

Vile miscreant, prepare thee for their den, 
Inhumane monster, hatefull unto men. 

But breathe thy selfe a time, while I goe 
drinke, 
For flameing Phoebus with his fyerye eye 
Torments me soe with burning heat, I thinke 
My thirst wold serve to drinke an ocean 
drye: 106 

Forbear a litle, as I delt with thee. 
Quoth Amarant. 'Thou hast noe foole of mee. 

Noe, sillye wretch, my father taught more 
witt, 
How I shold use such enemyes as thou ; 



By all my gods I doe rejoice at itfc, 111 

To understand that thirst constraines thee 

now; 

For all the treasure, that the world containes, 

One drop of water shall not coole thy vaines. 

Releeve my foe ! why, 'twere a madmans 
part: 115 

Refresh an adversarye to my wrong ! 
If thou imagine this, a child thou aft : 

Noe, fellow, I have known the world too 
long 
To be soe simple : now I know thy want, 
A minutes space of breathing I'll not grant. 

And with these words heaving aloft his 
clubb 121 

Into the ayre, he swings the same about : 
Then shakes his lockes, and doth his temples 
rubb, 
And, like the Cyclops, in his pride doth 
strout : 
Sirra, sayes hee, I have you at a lift, 125 
Now you are come unto your latest shift. 

Perish forever : with this stroke I send thee 
A medicine, that will doe thy thirst much 



Take noe more care for drinke before I eud 
thee, 
And then wee'll have carouses of thy blood ; 
Here's at thee with a butcher's downright 
blow, 131 

To please my furye with thine overthrow. 
w 

Infernall, false, obdurate feend, said Guy, 
That seemst a lump of crueltye from hell ; 

Ungratefull monster, since thou dost deny 
The thing to mee wherin I used thee well': 

With more revenge, than ere my sword did 
make, 139 

On thy accursed head revenge He take. 

Thy gyants longitude shall shorter shrinke, 
Except thy sun-scorcht skin be weapon 
proof: " 140 

Farewell my thirst ; I doe disdaine to drinke ; 
Streames keepe your waters to your owne 
behoof; 
Or let wild beasts be welcome thereunto ; 
With those pearle drops I will not have to do. 

Here, tyrant, take a taste of my good-will, 
For thus I doe begin my bloodye bout : 146 



GUY AND AMARANT. 



357 



You cannot chuse but like the greeting ill ; 
It is not that same clubb will beare you 

out; 
And take this payment on thy shaggye 

crowne — 
A blowe that brought him -with a vengeance 

downe. 150 

Then Guy sett foot upon the monsters brest, 

And from his shoulders did his head divide; 

Which with a yawninge mouth did gape, un- 

blest ; 

Noe dragons j awes were ever seene soe wide 

To open and to shut, till life was spent. 155 

Then Guy tooke keyes, and to the castle 

went, 

Where manye woefull captives he did find, 
Which had beene tyred with extremityes ; 

Whom he in freindly manner did unbind, 
And reasoned with them of their miseryes ; 

Eche told a tale with teares, and sighes, and 
cryes, 161 

All weeping to him with complaining eyes. 

There tender ladyes in darke dungeons lay, 
That were surprised in the desart wood, 

And had noe other dyett everye day, 165 
But flesh of humane creatures for their 
food : 

Some with their lovers bodyes had beene fed, 

And in their wombes their husbands buryed. 

% 
Now he bethinkes him of his being there, 
To enlarge the wronged brethren from their 
woes : 170 

And, as he searcheth, doth great clamours 
heare, 
By which sad sound's direction on he goes, 
Untill he findes a darksome obscure gate, 
Arm'd strongly ouer all with iron plate. 

That he unlockes, ana enters, where appeares 
The strangest object that he ever saw; 176 

Men that with famishment of many yeares, 
Were like deathes picture, which the 
painters draw ; 

I)ivers of them were hanged by eche thombe ; 

Others head-downward : by the middle some. 

With diligence he takes them from the walle, 
With lybertye their thraldome to acquaint: 



Then the perplexed knight their father calls, 
And sayes, Receive thy sonnes though 
poore and faint : 184 

I promisd you their lives, accept of that ; 
But did not warrant you they shold be fat. 

The castle I doe give thee, heere's the keyes, 
Where tyranye for many yeeres did dwell : 

Procure the gentle tender ladyes ease, 189 
For pittyes sake, use wronged women well: 

Men easilye revenge the wrongs men do ; 

But poore weake women have not strength 
thereto. 

The good old man, even overjoyed with this, 

Fell on the ground, and wold have kist 

Guys feete : 194 

Father, quoth he, refraine soe base a kiss, 
For age to honor youth I hold unmeete : 

Ambitious pryde hath hurt mee all it can, 

I goe to mortifie a sinfull man. 

*** The foregoing poem on "Guy and Ama- 
rant" has been discovered to be a fragment of 
" The famous historie of Guy earle of War- 
wicke, by Samuel Rowlands, London, printed 
by J. Bell, 1649," 4to., in xii. cantos, begin- 
ning thus: 

" When dreadful Mars in armour every day." 

Whether the edition in 1649 was the first 
is not known, but the author Sam. Rowlands 
was one of the minor poets who lived in the 
reigns of Queen Elizabeth and James I. and 
perhaps later. His other poems are chiefly 
of the religious kind, which makes it proba- 
ble that the history of Guy was one of his 
earliest performances. — There are extant of 
his (1.) "The betraying of Christ, Judas in 
dispaire, the seven words of our Saviour on 
the crosse, with other poems on the passion, 
&c, 1598, 4to." [Ames Typ. p. 428.]— (2.) A 
Theatre of delightful Recreation. Lond. 
printed for A. Johnson, 1605," 4to. (Penes 
editor.) This is a book of poems on subjects 
chiefly taken from the Old Testament. (3.) 
" Memory of Christ's Miracles, in verse, 
Lond. 1618, 4to." (4.) "Heaven's glory, 
earth's vanity, and hell's horror." Lond. 
1638, 8vo. [These two in Bod. Cat.] 

In the present edition the foregoing poem 
has been much improved from the printed 
copy. 



III. 

A SCOTTISH SONG. 



I have not been able to meet with a more 
ancient copy of this humorous old song, than 
that printed in the Tea-Table Miscellany, &c, 
which seems to have admitted some corrup- 
tions. 

Late in an evening forth I went 

A little before the sun gade down, 
And there I chanc't, by accident, 

To light on a battle new begun : 
A man and his wife wer fawn in a strife, 5 

I canna weel tell ye how it began ; 
But aye she wail'd her wretched life, 

Cryeng, Evir alake, mine auld goodman ! 



Thy auld goodman, that thou tells of, 

The country kens where he was born, 10 
Was but a silly poor vagabond, 

And ilka ane leugh him to scorn : 
For he did spend and make an end 

Of gear ' his fathers nevir' wan ; 
He gart the poor stand frae the door : 15 

Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman. 

SHE. 

My heart, alake ! is liken to break, 
Whan I think on my winsome John, 

His blinkan ee, and gait sae free, 
Was naithing like thee, thou dosend drone ; 

Wi' his rosie face, and flaxen hair, 21 

And skin as white as ony swan, 



He was large and tall, and comely withall; 
Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman. 



Why dost thou plein ? I thee maintein ; 25 

For meal and mawt thou disna want; 
But thy wild bees I canna please, 

Now whan our gear gins to grow scant. 
Of boushold stuff thou hast enough ; 

Thou wants for neither pot nor pan ; 30 
Of sicklike ware he left thee bare ; 

Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman. 



Yes I may tell, and fret my sell, 

To think on those blyth days I had, 
Whan I and he together ley 35 

In armes into a well-made bed : 
But now I sigh and may be sad, 

Thy courage is cauld, thy colour wan, 
Thou falds thy feet, and fa's asleep ; 

Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman. 



Then coming was the night sae dark, 

And gane was a' the light of day : 
The carle was fear'd to miss his mark, 

And therefore wad nae longer stay : 
Then up he gat, and ran his way, 

I trowe, the wife the day she wan ; 
And aye the owreword of the fray 

Was, Evir alake ! mine auld goodman. 



41 



45 



IV. 



$m gtarpwi anfr Stowt MiUiam. 



This seems to be the old song quoted in 
Fletcher's " Knight of the Burning Pestle," 
Acts 2d and 3d ; although the six lines there 
preserved are somewhat different from those 
in the ballad, as it stands at present. The 
reader will not wonder at this, when he is 
informed that this is only given from a mo- 



dern printed copy picked up on a stall. Its 
full title is, " Fair Margaret's Misfortunes ; 
or Sweet William's frightful dreams on his 
wedding night, with the sudden death and 
burial of those noble lovers." — 

The lines preserved in the play are this 
distich, 



FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM. 



359 



" You are no love for me, Margaret, 
I am no love for you." 

And the following stanza, 

" When it was grown to dark midnight, 
And all were fast asleep, 
In came Margarets grimly ghost, 
And stood at Williams feet. 

These lines have acquired an importance 
by giving birth to one of the most beautiful 
ballads in our own or any other language. 
See the song entitled " Margaret's Ghost," at 
the end of this volume. 

Since the first edition some improvements 
have been inserted, which were communi- 
cated by a lady of the first distinction, as 
she had heard this song repeated in her in- 
fancy. 

As it fell out on a long summer's day, 

Two lovers they sat on a hill ; 
They sat together that long summer's day, 

And could not talk their fill. 

I see no harm by you, Margaret, 5 

And you see none by mee ; 
Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock 

A rich wedding you shall see. 

Fair Margaret sat in her bower-wind6w, 
Combing her yellow hair ; 10 

There she spyed sweet William and his bride, 
As they were a riding near. 



Then down she layd her ivory combe, 
And braided her hair in twain : 

She went alive out of her bower, 
But ne'er came alive in't again. 



15 



When day was gone, and night was come, 

And all men fast asleep, 
Then came the spirit of fair Marg'ret, 

And stood at Williams feet. 20 

Are you awake, sweet William ? shee said ; 

Or, sweet William, are you asleep ? 
God give you joy of your gay bride-bed, 

And me of my winding-sheet. 

When day was come, and night was gone, 25 

And all men wak'd from sleep, 
Sweet William to his lady sayd, 

My dear, I have cause to weep. 
46 



I dreamt a dream, my dear ladye, 

Such dreames are never good : 30 

I dreamt my bower was full of red ' wine,' 
And my bride-bed full of blood. 

Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured sir, 

They never do prove good : 
To dream thy bower was full of red ' wine,' 

And thy bride-bed full of blood. 36 

He called up his merry men all, 

By one, by two, and by three ; 
Saying, I'll away to fair Marg'ret's bower, 

By the leave of my ladle. 40 

And when he came to fair Marg'ret's bower 

He knocked at the ring ; 
And who so ready as her seven brethren 

To let sweet William in. 

Then he turned up the covering-sheet, 45 

Pray let me see the dead : 
Methinks she looks all pale and wan, 

She hath lost her cherry red. 

I'll do more for thee, Margaret, 

Than any of thy kin ; 50 

For I will kiss thy pale wan lips, 

Though a smile I cannot win. 

With that bespake the seven brethren, 

Making most piteous mone : 
You may go kiss your jolly brown bride, 55 

And let our sister alone. 

If I do kiss my jolly brown bride, 

I do but what is right ; 
I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpse 

By day, nor yet by night. 60 

Deal on, deal on, my merry men all, 
Deal on your cake and your wine :* 

For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day, 
Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine. 

Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day, 65 

Sweet William dyed the morrow : 

Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love, 
Sweet William dyed for sorrow. 

Margaret was buryed in the lower chancel, 
And William in the higher : 70 

Out of her brest there sprang a rose, 
And out of his a briar. 

Ver. 31, 35, swine, PCC. 
* Alluding to the dole anciently given at funerals. 



300 



BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY. 



They grew till they grew unto the church top, 
And then they could grow no higher ; 

And there they tyed in a true lovers knot, 
"Which made all the people admire. 70 



Then came the clerk of the parish, 
As you the truth shall hear, 

And by misfortune cut them down, 
Or they had now been there. 



V. 



larlrara Jtllen's talig. 



Given, with some corrections, from an old 
black-letter copy, entitled, " Barbary Allen's 
cruelty, or the Young Man's Tragedy." 

In Scarlet towne, where I was borne, 
There was a faire maid dwellin, 

Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye ! 
Her name was Barbara Allen. 

All in the merrye month of May, 5 

When greene buds they were swellin, 

Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay, 
For love of Barbara Allen. 

He sent his man unto her then, 

To the towne where shee was dwellin; 10 
You must come to my master deare, 

Giff your name be Barbara Allen. 

For death is printed on his face, 

And ore his hart is stealin : 
Then haste away to comfort him, 15 

lovelye Barbara Allen. 

Though death be printed on his face, 

And ore his harte is stealin, 
Yet little better shall he bee 

For bonny Barbara Allen. 20 

So slowly, slowly, she came up, 
And slowly she came nye him ; 

And all she sayd, when there she came, 
Yong man, I think y'are dying. 

Ho turned his face unto her strait, 25 

With deadlye sorrow sighing ; 
O lovely maid, come pity mee, 

Ime on my deth-bed lying. 

If on your death-bed you doe lye, 
What needs the tale you are tellin ; 30 



I cannot keep you from your death ; 
Farewell, sayd Barbara Allen. 

He turnd his face unto the wall, 

As deadlye pangs he fell in : 
Adieu ! adieu ! adieu to you all, 35 

Adieu to Barbara Allen. 

As she was walking ore the fields, 

She heard the bell a knellin ; 
And every stroke did seem to saye, 

Unworthy Barbara Allen. 40 

She turnd her bodye round about, 

And spied the corps a coming : 
Laye down, laye down the corps, she sayd, 

That I may look upon him. 

With scornful eye she looked downe, 45 

Her cheeke with laughter swellin : 

Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine ; 
Unworthye Barbara Allen. 

When he was dead, and laid in grave, 

Her harte was struck with sorrowe, 50 

O mother, mother, make my bed, 
For I shall dye to-morrowe. 

Hard-harted creature him to slight, 

Who loved me so dearlye : 
O that I had beene more kind to him, 55 

When he was alive and neare me ! 

She, on her death-bed as she laye, 

Beg'd to be buried by him ; 
And sore repented of the daye, 

That she did ere denye him. 60 

Farewell, she sayd, ye virgins all, 

And shun the fault I fell in : 
Henceforth take warning by the fall 

Of cruel Barbara Allen. **• 



SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST. 361 




VI. 


Stowt Mllmm's §\a$t 


A SCOTTISH BALLAD. 


From Allan Kanisay's Tea-table Miscel- 


Till thou take me to yon kirk yard, 


lany. The concluding stanza of this piece 


And wed me with a ring. 


seems modern. 




My bones are buried in a kirk yard 


There came a ghost to Margaret's door, 


Afar beyond the sea, 


With many a grievous grone, 




And it is but my sprite, Margret, 35 


And ay he tirled at the pin ; 




That's speaking now to thee. 


But answer made she none. 




She stretched out her lily-white hand, 


Is this my father Philip ? 


5 


As for to do her best : 


Or is't my brother John ? 




Hae there your faith and troth, Willie, 


Or is't my true love Willie 




God send your soul good rest. 40 


From Scotland new come home ? 




Now she has kilted her robes of green, 


'Tis not thy father Philip ; 




A piece below her knee : 


Nor yet thy brother John : 


10 


And a' the live-lang winter night 


But 'tis thy true love Willie 




The dead corps followed shee. 


From Scotland new come home. 




Is there any room at your head, Willie, 45 


sweet Margret ! dear Margret ! 

I pray thee speak to mee : 
Give me my faith and troth, Margret, 


15 


Or any room at your feet ? 
Or any room at your side, Willie, 
Wherein that I may creep ? 


As I gave it to thee. 




There's nae room at my head, Margret, 


Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get, 

' Of me shalt nevir win/ 
Till that thou come within my bower, 




There's nae room at my feet, 50 
There's no room at my side, Margret, 
My coffin is made so meet. 


And kiss my cheek and chin. 


20 


Then up and crew the red red cock, 


If I should come within thy bower, 
I am no earthly man : 




And up then crew the gray: 
Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret, 55 


And should I kiss thy rosy lipp, 




That ' I' were gane away. 


Thy days will not be lang. 




No more the ghost to Margret said, 


sweet Margret, dear Margret, 

I pray thee speak to mee : 
Give me my faith and troth, Margret, 


25 


But, with a grievous grone, 
Evanish'd in a cloud of mist, 

And left her all alone. 60 


As I gave it to thee. 




O stay, my only true love, stay, 
The constant Margret cried : 


Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get, 




Wan grew her cheeks, she closed her een, 


' Of me shalt nevir win/ 


30 


Stretch'd her saft limbs, and died. 



362 



THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON. 



VII. 



^ir loljtt §n\m Kiift gitrto gllan. 



A SCOTTISH BALLAD. 



Printed, with a few conjectural emenda- 
tions, from a written copy. 

It was in and about the Martinmas time, 
When the greene leaves wer a fallan ; 

That Sir John Grehme o' the west countrye, 
Fell in luve wi' Barbara Allan. 

He sent his man down throw the towne, 5 
To the plaice where she was dwellan : 

haste and cum to my maister deare, 
Gin ye bin Barbara Allan. 

hooly, hooly raise she up, 

To the plaice wher he was lyan ; 10 

And whan she drew the curtain by, 

Young man I think ye're dyan.* 

its I'm sick, and very very sick, 

And its a' for Barbara Allen. 
the better for me ye'se never be, 15 

Though your harts blude wer spillan. 



Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir, 

Whan ye the cups wer fillan : 
How ye made the healths gae round and 
round, 20 

And slighted Barbara Allan ? 

He turn'd his face unto the wa', 
And death was with him dealan ; 

Adiew ! adiew ! my dear friends a', 
Be kind to Barbara Allan. 

Then hooly, hooly raise she up, 25 

And hooly, hooly left him ; 
And sighan said, she could not stay, 

Since death of life had reft him. 

She had not gane a mile but twa, 

Whan she heard the deid-bell knellan ; 30 
And everye jow the deid-bell gied, 

Cried, Wae to Barbara Allan ! 

mither, mither, mak my bed, 

mak it saft and narrow : 
Since my love died for me to day, 35 

Ise die for him to morrowe. 



VIII. 



%\t §siM's $Mjpr at ^lk^\i 



From an ancient black-letter copy in the 
Pepys Collection, with some improvements 
communicated by a lady as she had heard 
the same recited in her youth. The full title 
is, "True love requited: Or, the Bailiff's 
daughter of Islington." 

Islington in Norfolk is probably the place 
here meant. 



* An ingenious friend thinks the rhymes Dyand and Ly- 
and ought to be transposed : as the taunt, Young man, I 
think ye're lyand, would be very characteristical. 



There was ayouthe, and a well-beloved youthe, 

And he was a squires son : 
He loved the bayliffes daughter deare, 

That lived in Islington. 

Yet she was coye, and would not believe 5 

That he did love her soe, 
Noe nor at any time would she 

Any countenance to him showe. 



But when his friendes did understand 
His fond and foolish minde, 

They sent him up to faire London 
An apprentice for to binde. 



10 



THE WILLOW TREE. 


363 


And when he had been seven long yeares, 


Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart 




And never his love could see : 


Praye tell me where you were borne. 




Many a teare have I shed for her sake, 15 


At Islington, kind sir, sayd shee, 


35 


When she little thought of mee. 


Where I have had many a scorne. 




Then all the maids of Islington 


I prythee, sweet-heart, then tell to mee, 




Went forth to sport and playe, 


tell me, whether you knowe 




All but the bayliffes daughter deare : 


The bayliffes daughter of Islington. 




She secretly stole awaye. 20 


She is dead, sir, long agoe. 


40 


She pulled off her gowne of greene, 


If she be dead, then take my horse, 




And put on ragged attire, 


My saddle and bridle also ; 




And to faire London she would go 


For I will into some farr countrye, 




Her true love to enquire. 


Where noe man shall me knowe. 




And aa she went along the high road, 25 


staye, staye, thou goodlye youthe, 


45 


The weather being hot and drye, 


She standeth by thy side ; 




She sat her downe upon a green bank, 


She is here alive, she is not dead, 




And her true love came riding bye. 


And readye to be thy bride. 




She started up, with a colour soe redd, 


farewell griefe, and welcome joye, 




Catching hold of his bridle-reine ; 30 


Ten thousand times therefore ; 


50 


One penny, one penny, kind sir, she sayd, 


For nowe I have founde mine owne true love, 


Will ease me of much paine. 


Whom I thought I should never see more. 


E 

%\t W\\\ 


cito iru. 




A PASTORAL 


DIALOGUE. 




From the small black-letter collection, en- 


Shee that lov'd thee long and best, 




titled " The Golden Garland of princely De- 


Is her love turned to a jest? 




lights," collated with two other copies, and 






corrected by conjecture. 


CUDDY. 

Shee that long true love profest, 




WILLY. 


She hath robb'd my heart of rest : 




How now, shepherde, what meanes that ? 


For she a new love loves, not mee ; 


15 


Why that willowe in thy hat ? 


Which makes me wear the willowe-tree. 


Why thy scarffes of red and yellowe 






Turn'd to branches of greene willowe ? 


WILLY. 

Come then, shepherde, let us joine, 




CUDDY. 


Since thy happ is like to mine : 




They are chang'd, and so am I ; 5 


For the maid I thought most true 




Sorrowes live, but pleasures die : 


Mee hath also bid adieu. 


20 


Phillis hath forsaken mee, 






Which makes me weare the willowe-tree. 


CUDDY. 

Thy hard happ doth mine appease, 




WILLY. 


Companye doth sorrowe ease : 




Phillis ! shee that lov'd thee long ? 


Yet, Phillis, still I pine for thee, 




Is shee the lass hath done thee wrong ? 10 


And still must weare the willowe-tree. 





3G4 



THE LADY'S FALL. 



Shepherdo, be advis'd by mee, 
Cast off grief and willowe-tree : 
For thy grief brings her content, 
She is pleas' d if thou lament. 



25 



CUDDY. 



Herdsman, I'll bo rul'd by thee, 
There lyes grief and willowe-tree : 
Henceforth I will do as they, 
And love a new love every day. * 4 



30 



Hi* l^H's fall, 



— Is given (with corrections) from the 
editor's ancient folio MS., collated with two 
printed copies in black-letter : one in the 
British Museum, the other in the Pepys Col- 
lection. Its old title is, " A lamentable ballad 
of the Lady's fall." To the tune of "In 
Pescod Time, &c." — The ballad here referred 
to is preserved in the " Muses Library," 8vo., 
p. 281. It is an allegory or vision, entitled 
" The Shepherd's Slumber," and opens with 
some pretty rural images, viz.: 

" In pescod time when hound to horn 
Gives eare till buck be kil'd, 
And little lads with pipes of corne 
Sate keeping beasts a-field. 

" I went to gather strawberries 

By woods and groves full fair, &c." 

Marke well my heavy dolefull tale, 

You loyall lovers all, 
And needfully beare in your breast 

A gallant ladj^es fall. 
Long was she wooed, ere shee was wonne, 5 

To lead a wedded life, 
But folly wrought her overthrowe 

Before shee was a wife. 

Too soone, alas ! shee gave consent 

And yeelded to his will, 10 

Though he protested to be true, 

And faithfull to her still. 
Shee felt her body altered quite, 

Her bright hue waxed pale, 
Her lovelye cheeks chang'd color white, 15 

Her strength began to fayle. 

Soe that with many a sorrowful sigh, 

This beauteous ladye milde, 
With greeved hart, perceived herselfe 

To have conceived with childe. 20 



Shee kept it from her parents sight 
As close as close might bee, 

And soe put on her silken gowne 
None might her swelling see. 

Unto her lover secretly 

Her greefe shee did bewray, 
And, walking with him hand in hand, 

These words to him did say ; 
Behold, quoth shee, a maids distresse 

By love brought to thy bowe, 
Behold I goe with childe by thee, 

Tho none thereof doth knowe. 



25 



30 



35 



The litle babe springs in my wombe 

To heare its fathers voyce, 
Lett it not be a bastard called, 

Sith I made thee my choyce : 
Come, come, my love, perform thy vowe 

And wed me out of hand ; 
leave me not in this extreme 

Of griefe, alas ! to stand. 40 



Think on thy former promises, 

Thy oathes and vowes eche one ; 
Remember with what bitter teares 

To mee thou madest thy moane. 
Convey mee to some secrett place, 

And marye me with speede ; 
Or with thy rapyer end my life, 

Ere further shame proceede. 



45 



Alacke ! my beauteous love, quoth hee, 

My joye, and only dear ; 
Which way can I convey thee hence, 

When dangers are so near ? 
Thy friends are all of hye degree, 

And I of mean estate ; 
Full hard it is to gett thee forthe 

Out of thy fathers gate. 



50 



55 



THE LADY'S FALL. 



365 



Dread not thy life to save my fame, 

For if thou taken bee, 
My selfe will step betweene the swords, 

And take the harme on mee: 60 

Soe shall I scape dishonour quite ; 

And if I should be slaine, 
What could they say, but that true love 

Had wrought a ladyes bane. 

But feare not any further harme ; 65 

My selfe will soe devise, 
That I will ryde away with thee 

Unknowen of mortall eyes : 
Disguised like some pretty page 

He meete thee in the darke, 70 

And all alone He come to thee 

Hard by my fathers parke. 

And there, quoth hee, He meete my deare 

If God so lend me life, 
On this day month without all fayle 75 

I will make thee my wife. 
Then with a sweet and loving kisse, 

They parted presentlye, 
And att their partinge brinish teares 

Stoode in eche others eye. 80 

Att length the wished day was come, 

On which this beauteous mayd, 
"With longing eyes, and strange attire, 

For her true lover stayd. 
When any person shee espyed 85 

Come ryding ore the plaine, 
She hop'd it was her owne true love : 

But all her hopes were vaine. 

Then did shee weepe and sore bewaylo 

Her most unhappy fate ; 90 

Then did shee speake these woefull words, 

As succourless she sate ; 
false, forsworne, and faithlesse man, 

Disloyall in thy love, 
Hast thou forgott thy promise past, 95 

And wilt thou perjured prove? 

And hast thou now forsaken mee 

In this my great distresse, 
To end my days in open shame, 

Which thou mightst well redresse ? 100 
Woe worth the time I eer believ'd 

That nattering tongue of thine : 
Wold God that I had never seene 

The teares of thy false eyne. 



And thus with many a sorrowful sigh, 105 

Homewards shee went againe : 
Noe rest came to her waterye eyes, 

She felt such privye paine. 
In travail strong shee fell that night, 

With many a bitter throwe ; 110 

What woefull paines shee then did feel, 

Doth eche good woman knowe. 

Shee called up her waiting mayd, 

That lay at her bedds feete, 
Who musing at her mistress woe, 115 

Began full faste to weepe. 
Weepe not, said shee, but shutt the dores, 

And windowes round about, 
Let none bewray my wretched state, 

But keepe all persons out. 120 

O mistress, call your mother deare, 

Of women you have neede, 
And of some skilfull midwifes helpe, 

That better may you speed. 
Call not my mother for thy life, 125 

Nor fetch no woman here ; 
The midwifes helpe comes all too late, 

My death I doe not feare. 

With that the babe sprang from her wombe. 

No creature being nye, 130 

And with one sighe, which brake her hart, 

This gentle dame did dye. 
The lovely litle infant younge, 

The mother being dead, 
Resigned its new received breath 135 

To him that had it made. 

Next morning came her own true love, 

Affrighted at the newes, 
And he for sorrow slew himselfe, 

Whom eche one did accuse. 140 

The mother with her new borne babe, 

Were laide both in one grave ; 
Their parents overworne with woe, 

No joy thenceforth cold have. 

Take heed, you dayntye damsells all, 145 

Of nattering words beware, 
And to the honour of your name 

Have an especial care. 
Too true, alas ! this story is, 

As many one can tell : 150 

By others harmes learn to be wise, 

And you shall do full well. 



366 



THE BRIDE'S BURIAL. 



XI. 



W4, Mali, Jj0to fir* g0n«2. 



A SCOTTISH SONG. 



This is a very ancient song, but we could 
only give it from a modern copy. Some 
editions instead of the four last lines in 
the second stanza have these, which have too 
much merit to be wholly suppressed : 

" Whan cockle shells turn siller bells, 
And muscles grow on every tree, 

When frost and snaw sail warm us aw', 
Than sail my love prove true to me." 

See the Orpheus Caledonius, &c. 

Arthur's-seat, mentioned in ver. 17, is a 
hill near Edinburgh ; at the bottom of which 
is St. Anthony's well. 

waly waly up the bank, 

And waly waly down the brae, 
And waly waly yon burn side, 

Where I and my love wer wont to gae. 

1 leant my back unto an aik, 5 
I thought it was a trusty tree ! 

But first it bow'd and syne it brak, 
Sae my true love did lichtly me. 



waly waly, gin love be bonny, 
A little time while it is new ; 

But when its auld, it waxeth cauld, 
And fades awa' like morning dew. 



10 



wherfore shuld I busk my head ? 

Or wherfore shuld I kame my hair ? 
For my true love has me forsook, 

And says he'll never loe me mair. 



15 



Now Arthur-seat sail be my bed, 

The sheets shall neir be fyl'd by me : 

Saint Anton's well sail be my drink, 

Since my true love has forsaken me. 20 

Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw, 
And shake the green leaves aff the tree ? 

gentle death, whan wilt thou cum ? 
For of my life I am wearie. 

Tis not the frost, that freezes fell, 25 

Nor blawing snaws inclemencle ; 
'Tis not sic cauld, that makes me cry, 

But my loves heart grown cauld to me. 
When we came in by Glasgowe town, 

We were a comely sight to see, 30 

My love was cled in black velvet, 

And I my sell in cramasle. 

But had I wist, before I kisst, 
That love had been sae ill to win ; 

1 had lockt my heart in a case of gowd, 35 
And pinnd it with a siller pin. 

And, oh ! if my young babe were born, 

And set upon the nurses knee, 
And I my sell were dead and gane ! 

For a maid again Ise never be. 40 



XII. 



% grita's gral. 



From two ancient copies in black-letter: 
one in the Pepys Collection ; the other in the 
British Museum. 

To the tune of " The Lady's Fall." 

Come mourne, come mourne with mee, 

You loyall lovers all ; 
Lament my loss in weeds of woe, 

Whom griping grief doth thrall. 



Like to the drooping vine, 
Cut by the gardener's knife, 

Even so my heart, with sorrow slaine, 
Doth bleed for my sweet wife. 

By death, that grislye ghost, 

My turtle dove is slaine, 
And I am left, unhappy man, 

To spend my dayes in paine. 



10 



THE BRIDE'S BURIAL. 



367 



Her beauty late so bright, 
Like roses in their prime, 

Is wasted like the mountain snowe, 
Before warme Phebus' shine. 



15 



Her faire red colour'd cheeks 

Now pale and wan ; her eyes 
That late did shine like crystal stars, 

Alas, their light it dies : 20 

Her prettye lilly hands, 

"With fingers long and small, 
In colour like the earthly claye, 

Yea, cold and stiff withall. 

When as the morning-star 25 

Her golden gates had spred, 
And that the glittering sun arose, 

Forth from fair Thetis' bed ; 

Then did my love awake, 

Most like a lilly-flower, 30 

And as the lovely queene of heaven, 

So shone shee in her bower. 

Attired was shee then 

Like Flora in her pride, 
Like one of bright Diana's nymphs, 35 

So look'd my loving bride. 

And as fair Helens face 
Did Grecian dames besmirche, 

So did my dear exceed in sight 
All virgins in the church. 40 

When we had knitt the knott 

Of holy wedlock-band, 
Like alabaster joyn'd to jett, 

So stood we hand in hand. 

Then lo ! a chilling cold 45 

Strucke every vital part, 
And griping griefe, like pangs of death, 

Seiz'd on my true love's heart. 

Down in a swoon she fell, 

As cold as any stone ; 50 

Like Venus picture lacking like, 

So was my love brought home. 

At length her rosye red, 

Throughout her comely face, 
As Phoebus beames with watry cloudes 55 

Was cover'd for a space. 
47 



When with a grievous groane, 
And voice both hoarse and drye, 

Farewell, quoth she, my loving friend, 
For I this daye must dye ; 60 

The messenger of God 

With golden trumpe I see, 
With manye other angels more, 

Which sound and call for me. 

Instead of musicke sweet, 65 

Go toll my passing-bell ; 
And with sweet flowers strow my grave, 

That in my chamber smell. 

Strip off my bride's arraye, 

My cork shoes from my feet ; 70 

And, gentle mother, be not coye 

To bring my winding-sheet. 

My wedding-dinner drest, 

Bestowe upon the poor, 
And on the hungry, needy, maimde, 75 

Now craving at the door. 

Instead of virgins yong, 

My bride-bed for to see, 
Go cause some cunning carpenter, 

To make a chest for mee. 80 

My bride laces of silk 

Bestow'd, for maidens meet, 
May fitly serve, when I am dead, 

To tye my hands and feet. 

And thou, my lover true, 85 

My husband and my friend, 
Let me intreat thee here to staye, 

Until my life doth end. 

Now leave to talk of love, 

And humblye on your knee, 90 

Direct your prayers unto God : 

But mourn no more for me. 

In love as we have livde, 

In love let us depart ; 
And I, in token of my love, 95 

Do kiss thee with my heart. 

staunch those bootless teares, 
Thy weeping tis in vaine ; 

1 am not lost, for wee in heaven 

Shall one daye meet againe. 100 



368 



DULCINA. 



With that slice turn'd aside, 
As one dispos'd to sleep, 

And like a lamb departed life : 
Whose friends did sorely -weep. 



105 



Her true love seeing this, 

Did fetch a grievous groane, 
As tho' his heart would burst in twaine, 

And thus he made his moane. 

darke and dismal daye, 

A daye of grief and care, 110 

That hath bereft the sun so bright, 

Whose beams refresht the air. 

Now woe unto the world, 

And all that therein dwell, 
that I were with thee in heaven, 115 

For here I live in hell. 



And now this lover lives 

A discontented life, 
Whose bride was brought unto the grave 

A maiden and a wife. 120 

A garland fresh and faire 

Of lillies there was made, 
In sign of her virginitye, 

And on her coffin laid. 

Six maidens all in white, 125 

Did beare her to the ground : 
The bells did ring in solemn sort, 

And made a dolefull sound. 

In earth they laid her then, 

For hungrye wormes a preye ; 130 

So shall the fairest face alive 

At length be brought to claye. 



XIII. 



gttlnita. 



Given from two ancient copies, one in black- 
print, in the Pepys Collection, the other in the 
Editor's folio MS. Each of these contained 
a stanza not found in the other. What seemed 
the best readings were selected from both. 

This song is quoted as very popular in 
"Walton's Compleat Angler," chap. 2. It 
is more ancient than the ballad of " Robin 
Good-Fellow" printed below, which yet is 
supposed to have been written by Ben Jonson. 

As at noone Dulcina rested 

In her sweete and shady bower, 
Came a shepherd, and requested 
In her lapp to sleepe an hour. 

But from her looke 5 

A wounde he tooke 
Soe deepe, that for a further boone 
The nymph he prayes. 
Wherto shee sayes, 
Forgoe me now, come to me soone. 10 

But in vayne shee did conjure him 

To depart her presence soe : 
Having a thousand tongues to allure him, 
And but one to bid him goe : 

Where lipps invite, 15 

And eyes delight, 
And cheekes, as fresh as rose in June, 

Persuade delay ; 

What boots, she say, 
Forgoe me now, come to me soone ? 20 



He demands what time for pleasure 
Can there be more fit than now : 
She sayes, night gives love that leysure, 
Which the day can not allow. 

He sayes, the sight 25 

' Improves delight. 
Which she denies : Nights mirkie noone 

In Venus' playes 

Makes bold, shee sayes ; 
Forgoe me now, come to mee soone. 30 

But what promise or profession 

From his hands could purchase scope ? 
Who would sell the sweet possession 
Of suche beautye for a hope ? 

Or for the sight 

Of lingering night 
Foregoe the present joyes of noone? 

Though ne'er soe faire 

Her speeches were, 
Forgoe me now, come to mee soone. 

How, at last, agreed these lovers ? 

Shee was fayre, and he was young : 
The tongue may tell what th' eye discovers; 
Joyes unseene are never sung. 

Did shee consent, 45 

Or he relent ; 
Accepts he night, or grants shee noone ; 

Left he her a mayd, 

Or not ; she sayd 
Forgoe me now, come to me soone. 50 



35 



40 



THE LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY. 



369 



XIV. 



%\t fafog Isabella's f rap&u. 



This ballad is given from an old black- 
letter copy in the Pepys Collection, collated 
with another in the British Museum, H. 263, 
folio. It is there entitled, " The Lady Isa- 
bella's Tragedy, or the Step-Mother's Cruelty: 
being a relation of a lamentable and cruel 
murther, committed on the body of the Lady 
Isabella, the only daughter of a noble Duke, 
&c. To the tune of, The Lady's Fall." To 
some copies are annexed eight more modern 
stanzas, entitled, " The Dutchess's and Cook's 
Lamentation." 

There was a lord of worthy fame, 
And a hunting he would ride, 

Attended by a noble traine 
Of gentrye by his side. 

And while he did in chase remaine, 5 

To see both sport and playe; 
His ladye went, as she did feigne, 

Unto the church to praye. 

This lord he had a daughter deare, 

Whose beauty shone so bright, 10 

She was belov'd, both far and neare, 
Of many a lord and knight. 

Fair Isabella was she call'd, 

A creature faire was shee ; 
She was her fathers only joye ; 15 

As you shall after see. 

Therefore her cruel step-mother 

Did envye her so much, 
That daye by daye she sought her life, 

Her malice it was such. 20 

She bargain'd with the master-cook, 

To take her life awaye : 
And taking of her daughters book, 

She thus to her did saye. 

Go home, sweet daughter, I thee praye, 25 

Go hasten presentlie ; 
And tell unto the master-cook 

These wordes that I tell thee. 



And bid him dresse to dinner streight 
That faire and milk-white doe, 30 

That in the parke doth shine so bright, 
There's none so faire to showe. 

This ladye fearing of no harme, 

Obey'd her mothers will ; 
And presentlye she hasted home, 35 

Her pleasure to fulfill. 

She streight into the kitchen went, 

Her message for to tell ; 
And there she spied the master-cook, 

Who did with malice swell. 40 

Nowe, master-cook, it must be soe, 

Do that which I thee tell : 
You needes must dresse the milk-white doe, 

Which you do knowe full well. 

Then streight his cruell bloodye hands, 45 

He on the ladye layd ; 
Who quivering and shaking stands, 

While thus to her he sayd ; 

Thou art the doe that I must dresse ; 

See here, behold my knife ; 50 

For it is pointed presently 

To ridd thee of thy life. 

O then, cried out the scullion-boye, 
As loud as loud might bee ; 

save her life, good master-cook, 55 
And make your pyes of mee ! 

For pityes sake do not destroye 

My ladye with your knife ; 
You know shee is her father's joye, 

For Christes sake save her life. 60 

1 will not save her life, he sayd, 
Nor make my pyes of thee ; 

Yet if thou dost this deed bewraye, 
Thy butcher I will bee. 

Now when this lord he did come home 65 

For to sitt down and eat ; 
He called for his daughter deare, 

To come and carve his meat. 



370 A HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID. 


Now sit you downe, his ladye sayd, 


All caused by her step-mother, 




sit you downe to meat ; 70 


Who did her death desire. 




Into some nunnery she is gone ; 






Your daughter deare forget. 


And cursed bee the master-cook, 
O cursed may he bee ! 


85 


Then solemnlye he made a vowe, 


I proffered him my own heart's blood, 




Before the companle : 


From death to set her free. 




That he would neither eat nor drinke, 75 






Until he did her see. 


Then all in blacke this lord did mourne ; 




And for his daughters sake, 


90 


then bespake the scullion-boye, 


He judged her cruell step-mother 




With a loud voice so hye ; 


To be burnt at a stake. 




If now you will your daughter see, 






My lord cut up that pye : 80 


Likewise he judg'd the master-cook 
In boiling lead to stand ; 




Wherein her fleshe is minced small, 


And made the simple scullion-boye 


95 


And parched with the fire ; 


The heire of all his land. 




XV. 




Jl Ja* into €xi after €«$>. 




This song is a kind of Translation of a 


Which, being shot, like lightning, in, 




pretty poem of Tasso's, called Amore fuggi- 


Wounds the heart, but not the skin. 




tivo, generally printed with his " Aminta," 






and originally imitated from the first Idyl- 


Wings he hath, which though yee clip, 




lium of Moschus. 


He will leape from lip to lip, 


20 


It is extracted from Ben Jonson's Masque 


Over liver, lights, and heart ; 




at the marriage of Lord Viscount Hadington, 


Yet not stay in any part. 




on Shrove-Tuesday, 1608. One stanza, full 


And, if chance his arrow misses, 




of dry mythology, is here omitted, as it had 


He will shoot himselfe in kisses 




been dropped in a copy of this song printed 
in a small volume called " Le Prince 


He doth beare a golden bow, 


25 


d' Amour. Lond. 1660," 8vo. 


And a quiver hanging low, 
Full of arrowes, which outbrave 




Beauties, have yee seen a toy, 


Dian's shafts ; where, if he have 




Called Love, a little boy, 


Any head more sharpe than other, 




Almost naked, wanton, blinde ; 


With that first he strikes his mother. 


30 


Cruel now, and then as kinde ? 






If he be amongst yee, say ; 5 


Still the fairest are his fuell, 




He is Venus' run away. 


When his daies are to be cruell ; 




Shee, that will but now discover 

Where the winged wag doth hover, 

Shall to-night receive a kisse, 

How and where herselfe would wish : 10 


Lovers hearts are all his food, 
And his baths their warmest bloud : 
Nought but wounds his hand doth season 
And he hates none like to Reason. 


35 


But who brings him to his mother 
Shall have that kisse, and another. 


Trust him not : his words, though sweet, 
Seldome with his heart doe meet : 




Markes he hath about him plentie ; 


All his practice is deceit ; 




You may know him among twentie : 


Everie gift is but a bait : 


40 


All his body is a fire, 15 


Not a kisse but poyson beares ; 




And his breath a flame entire : 

- .... 


And most treason's in his teares. 





THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER. 



371 



Idle minutes are his raigne ; 

Then the straggler makes his game, 

By presenting maides with toyes 

And would have yee thinke them joyes ; 

'Tis the ambition of the elfe 

To have all childish as himselfe. 



45 



If by these yee please to know him, 
Beauties, be not nice, but show him. 
Though yee had a will to hide him, 
Now, we hope, yee'l not abide him, 
Since yee heare this faker's play, 
And that he is Venus' run-away. 



50 



XVI. 



%\t ptg of fnma's gatrgfeter. 



The story of this Ballad seems to be taken 
from an incident in the domestic history of 
Charles the Ba.ld, King of France. His 
daughter Judith was betrothed to Ethelwulph 
King of England: but before the marriage 
was consummated, Ethelwulph died, and she 
returned to France : whence she was carried 
off by Baldwyn, Forester of Flanders ; who, 
after many crosses and difficulties, at length 
obtained the king's consent to their marriage, 
and was made Earl of Flanders. This hap- 
pened about A. D. 863. — See Rapin, Henault, 
and the French Historians. 

The following copy is given from the Edit- 
or's ancient folio MS. collated with another 
in black-letter in the Pepys Collection, en- 
titled, " An excellent Ballad of a prince of 
England's courtship to the King of France's 
daughter, &c. To the tune of Crimson 
Velvet." 

Many breaches having been made in this 
old song by the hand of time, principally (as 
might be expected) in the quick returns of 
the rhyme ; an attempt is here made to repair 
them. 

In the dayes of old, 

When faire France did flourish, 
Storyes plaine have told, 

Lovers felt annoye. 
The queene a daughter bare, 5 

"Whom beautye's queene did nourish : 
She was lovelye faire 

She was her fathers joye. 
A prince of England came, 
Whose deeds did merit fame, 10 

But he was exil'd, and outcast : 
Love his soul did fire, 
Shee granted his desire, 

Their hearts in one were linked fast. 



Which when her father proved, 15 

Sorelye he was moved, 

And tormented in his minde. 
He sought for to prevent them ; 
And, to discontent them, 

Fortune cross'd these lovers kinde. 20 

When these princes twaine 

Were thus barr'd of pleasure, 
Through the kinges disdaine, 

Which their joyes withstoode: 
The lady soon prepar'd 25 

Her Jewells and her treasure : 
Having no regard 

For state and royall bloode ; 
In homolye poore array 
She went from court away, 30 

To meet her joye and hearts delight ; 
Who in a forrest great 
Had taken up his seat, 

To wayt her coming in the night. 
But, lo ! what sudden danger 35 

To this princely stranger 

Chanced, as he sate alone ! 
By outlawes he was robbed, 
And with ponyards stabbed, 

Uttering many a dying grone. 40 

The princess, arm'd by love, 

And by chaste desire, 
All the night did rove 

Without dread at all : 
Still unknowne she past 45 

In her strange attire ; 
Coming at the last 

Within echoes call, — 
••you faire woods, quoth shee, 
Honoured may you bee, 50 

Harbouring my hearts delight ; 



372 



THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER. 



Which encompass here 
My joye and only deare, 

My trustye friend, and comelye knight. 
Sweete, I come unto thee, 55 

Sweete, I come to woo thee ; 

That thou mayst not angry bee 
For my long delaying ; 
For thy curteous staying 

Soone amends He make to thee. GO 

Passing thus alone 

Through the silent forest, 
Many a grievous grone 

Sounded in her ears : 
She heard one complayne 65 

And lament the sorest, 
Seeming all in payne, 

Shedding deadly teares. 
Farewell, my deare, quoth hee, 
Whom I must never see ; 70 

For why my life is att an end, 
Through villaines crueltye : 
For thy sweet sake I dye, 

To show I am a faithfull friend. 
Here I lye a bleeding, 75 

While my thoughts are feeding 

On the rarest beautye found. 
hard happ, that may be ! 
Little knowes my ladye 

My heartes blood lyes on the ground. 80 

With that a grone he sends 

Which did burst in sunder 
All the tender bands 

Of his gentle heart. 
She, who knewe his voice, 85 

At his wordes did wonder ; 
All her former joyes 

Did to griefe convert. 
Strait she ran to see, 
Who this man shold bee, 90 

That soe like her love did seeme : 
Her lovely lord she found 
Lye slaine upon the ground, 

Smear'd with gore a ghastlye streame. 
Which his lady spying, 95 

Shrieking, fainting, crying, 

Her sorrows could not uttered bee : 
Fate, she cryed, too cruell : 
For thee — my dearest jewell, 

Would God ! that I had dyed for thee. 100 

V; 
His pale lippes, alas ! 

Twentye times she kissed, 



And his face did wash 

With her trickling teares : 
Every gaping wound 105 

Tenderlye she pressed, 
And did wipe it round 

With her golden haires. 
Speake, faire love, quoth shee, 
Speake, faire prince, to mee, 110 

One sweete word of comfort give : 
Lift up thy deare eyes, 
Listen to my cryes, 

Thinke in what sad griefe I live. 
All in vain she sued, 115 

All in vain she wooed, 

The prince's life was fled and gone. 
There stood she still mourning, 
Till the suns retourning, 

And bright day was coming on. 120 

In this great distresse 

Weeping, wayling ever, 
Oft shee cryed, alas ! 

What will become of mee ? 
To my fathers court 125 

I returne will never : 
But in lowlye sort 

I will a servant bee. 
While thus she made her mone, 
Weeping all alone 130 

In this deepe and deadlye feare : 
A for'ster all in greene, 
Most comelye to be seene, 

Ranging the woods did find her there. 
Moved with her sorrowe, 135 

Maid, quoth hee, good morrowe, 

What hard happ has brought thee here ? 
Harder happ did never 
Two kinde hearts dissever : 

Here lyes slaine my brother deare. 140 

Where may I remaine, 

Gentle for'ster, shew me, 
-'Till I can obtaine 

A service in my neede ? 
Paines I will not spare : 145 

This kinde favour doe me, ' 
It will ease my care ; 

Heaven shall be thy meede. 
The for'ster all amazed, 
On her beautye gazed, 150 

Till his heart was set on fire. 
If, faire maid, quoth hee, 
You will goe with mee, 

You shall have your hearts desire. 



THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER. 



373 



He brought her to his mother, 155 

And above all other 

He sett forth this maidens praise. 
Long was his heart inflamed, 
At length her love he gained, 

And fortune crown'd his future dayes. 

Thus unknowne he wedde 161 

With a kings faire daughter : 
Children seven they had, 

Ere she told her birth. 
Which when once he knew, 

Humblye he besought her, 
He to the world might shew 

Her rank and princelye worth. 
He cloath'd his children then, 
(Not like other men) 

In partye-colours strange to see : 
The right side cloth of gold, 
The left side to behold, 

Of woollen cloth still framed hee.* 
Men thereatt did wonder ; 175 

Golden fame did thunder 

This strange deede in every place : 
The King of France came thither, 
It being pleasant weather, 

In those woods the hart to chase. 180 



The children then they bring, 
So their mother wilPd it, 



165 



170 



* This will remind the reader of the livery and device of 
Charles Brandon, a private gentleman, who married the 
Queen Dowager of France, sister of Henry TBI. At a 
tournament which he held at his wedding, the trappings 
of his horse were half cloth of gold, and half frieze, with 
the folllowing motto : 

"Cloth of Gold, do not despise, 
Tho' thou art match with Cloth of Frize, 
Cloth of Frize, he not too hold, 
Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Gold." 

See Sir W. Temple's Misc. vol. m. p. 356. 



Where the royall king 

Must of force come bye : 
Their mothers riche array, 185 

Was of crimson velvet : 
Their fathers all of gray, 

Seemelye to the eye. 
Then this famous king, 
Noting every thing, 190 

Askt how he durst be so bold 
To let his wife soe weare, 
And decke his children there 

In costly robes of pearl and gold. 
The forrester replying, 195 

And the cause descrying,* 

To the king these words did say, 
Well may they, by their mother, 
Weare rich clothes with other, 

Being by birth a princesse gay. 200 

The king aroused thus, 

More heedfullye beheld them, 
Till a crimson blush 

His remembrance crost. 
The more I fix my mind 205 

On thy wife and children, 
The more methinks I find 

The daughter which I lost. 
Falling on her knee, 
I am that child, quoth shee ; 210 

Pardon mee, my soveraine liege. 
The king perceiving this, 
His daughter deare did kiss, 

Whilejoyfull tear es did stopphis speeche. 
With his traine he tourned, 215 

And with them sojourned. 

Strait he dubb'd her husband knight ; 
Then made him Erie of Flanders, 
And chiefe of his commanders : 219 

Thus were their sorrowes put to flight. 

*** 

* 



* i. e. describing. See Gloss. 



374 



THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. 



XVII. 



%\t Stout lUglnt. 



This little madrigal (extracted from Ben 
Jonson's Silent Woman, act 1, sc. 1, first acted 
in 1609) is in imitation of a Latin poem 
printed at the end of the variorum Edit, of 
Petronius, beginning "Semper munditias, 
semper Basilissa decoras, Sec." See Whalley's 
Ben Jonson, vol. II., p. 420. 



Still to be neat, still to be drest, 
As you were going to a feast : 



Still to be poud'red, still perfum'd : 
Lady it is to be presum'd, 
Though art's hid causes are not found, 5 
All is not sweet, all is not sound. 

Give me a looke, give me a face, 

That makes simplicitie a grace ; 

Robes loosely flowing, haire as free : 

Such sweet neglect more taketh me, 10 

Than all th' adulteries of art, 

That strike mine eyes, but not my heart. 



XVIII. 



ft* CPrm m % »0&. 



The subject of this very popular ballad 
(which has been set in so favourable a light 
by the Spectator, No. 85) seems to be taken 
from an old play, entitled " Two lamentable 
Tragedies ; the one of the murder of Maister 
Beech, a chandler in Thames-streete, &c. 
The other of a young child murthered in a 
wood by two ruffins, with the consent of his 
unkle. By Rob. Yarrington, 1601, 4to." Our 
ballad-maker has strictly followed the play 
in the description of the father and mother's 
dying charge : in the uncle's promise to take 
care of their issue : his hiring two ruffians to 
destroy his wards, under pretence of sending 
them to school: their choosing a wood to 
perpetrate the murder in : one of the ruffians 
relenting, and a battle ensuing, &c. In other 
respects he has departed from the play. In 
the latter the scene is laid in Padua : there 
is but one child: which is murdered by a 
sudden stab of the unrelenting ruffian : he is 
slain himself by his less bloody companion ; 
but ere he dies he gives the other a mortal 
wound: the latter living just long enough to 
impeach the uncle ; who, in consequence of 
this impeachment, is arraigned and executed 
by the hand of justice, &c. Whoever com- 
pares the play with the ballad, will have no 
doubt but the former is the original: the 



language is far more obsolete, and such a 
vein of simplicity runs through the whole 
performance, that, had the ballad been writ- 
ten first, there is no doubt but every circum- 
stance of it would have been received into 
the drama : whereas this was probably built 
on some Italian novel. 

Printed from two ancient copies, one of 
them in black-letter in the Pepys collection. 
Its title at large is, "The Children in the 
Wood : or, the Norfolk Gentleman's Last Will 
and Testament : to the tune of Rogero, &c." 

Now ponder well, you parents deare, 

These wordes, which I shall write ; 
A doleful story you shall heare, 

In time brought forth to light. 
A gentleman of good account 5 

In Norfolke dwelt of late, 
Who did in honour far surmount 

Most men of his estate. 

Sore sicke he was, and like to dye, 

No helpe his life could save ; 10 

His wife by him as sicke did lye, 

And both possest one grave. 
No love between these two was lost, 

Each was to other kinde, 
In love they liv'd, in love they dyed, 15 

And left too babes behinde : 



THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. 375 


The one a fine and pretty boy, 


The parents being dead and gone, 65 


Not passing three yeares olde ; 


The children home he takes, 


The other a girl more young than he, 


And bringes them straite unto his house, 


And fram'd in beautyes molde. 20 


Where much of them he makes. 


The father left his little son, 


He had not kept these pretty babes 


As plainlye doth appeare, 


A twelvemonth and a daye, 70 


When he to perfect age should come, 


But, for their wealth, he did devise 


Three hundred poundes a yeare. 


To make them both awaye. 


And to his little daughter Jane 25 


He bargain'd with two ruffians strong, 


Five hundred poundes in gold, 


Which were of furious mood, 


To be paid downe on marriage-day, 


That they should take these children young, 


Which might not be controlPd : 


And slaye them in a wood. 76 


But if the children chance to dye, 


He told his wife an artful tale, 


Ere they to age should come, 30 


He would the children send 


Their uncle should possesse their wealth ; 


To be brought up in faire London, 


For so the wille did run. 


With one that was his friend. 80 


Now, brother, said the dying man, 


Away then went those pretty babes, 


Look to my children deare ; 


Rejoycing at that tide, 


Be good unto my boy and girl, 35 


Rejoycing with a merry minde, 


No friendes else have they here : 


They should on cock-horse ride. 


To God and you I recommend 


They prate and prattle pleasantly, 85 


My children deare this daye ; 


As they rode on the waye, 


But little while be sure we have 


To those that should their butchers be, 


Within this world to staye. 40 


And work their lives decaye : 


You must be father and mother both, 


So that the pretty speeche they had, 


And uncle all in one ; 


Made Murder's heart relent: 90 


God knowes what will become of them, 


And they that undertooke the deed, 


When I am dead and gone. 


Full sore did now repent. 


With that bespake their mother deare, 45 


Yet one of them more hard of heart, 


brother kinde, quoth shee, 


Did vowe to do his charge, 


You are the man must bring our babes 


Because the wretch, that hired him, 95 


To wealth or miserie : 


Had paid him very large. 


And if you keep them carefully, 


The other won't agree thereto, 


Then God will you reward ; 50 


So here they fall to strife ; 


But if you otherwise should deal, 


With one another they did fight, 


God will your deedes regard. 


About the childrens life : 100 


With lippes as cold as any stone, 


And he that was of mildest mood, 


They kist their children small : 


Did slaye the other there, 


God bless you both, my children deare ; 


Within an unfrequented wood ; 


With that the teares did fall. 56 


The babes did quake for feare ! 


These speeches then their brother spake 


He took the children by the hand, 105 


To this sicke couple there, 


Teares standing in their eye, 


The keeping of your little ones 


And bad them straitwaye follow him, 


Sweet sister, do not feare : 60 


And look they did not crye : 


God never prosper me nor mine, 


And two long miles he ledd them on, 


Nor aught else that I have, 


While they for food complaine : 110 


If I do wrong your children deare, 


Staye here, quoth he, I'll bring you bread, 


When you are layd in grave. 
48 


When I come back againe. 



376 A LOVER OF LATE. 




These pretty babes, with hand in hand, 


And in a voyage to Portugal 




Went wandering up and downe ; 


Two of his sonnes did dye ; 




But never more could see the man 115 


And to conclude, himselfe was brought 


Approaching from the towne : 


To want and miserye : 


140 


Their prettye lippes with black-berries, 


He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land 


Were all besmear'd and dyed, 


Ere seven years came about. 




And when they sawe the darksome night, 


And now at length this wicked act 




They sat them downe and cryed. 120 


Did by this meanes come out : 




Thus wandered these poor innocents, 


The fellowe, that did take in hand 


145 


Till deathe did end their grief, 


These children for to kill, 




In one anothers armes they dyed, 


Was for a robbery judg'd to dye, 




As wanting due relief: 


Such was God's blessed will : 




No burial ' this' pretty ' pair' 125 


Who did confess the very truth, 




Of any man receives, 


As here hath been display'd : 


150 


Till Robin-red-breast piously 


Their uncle having dyed in gaol, 




Did cover them with leaves. 


Where he for debt was layd. 




And now the heavy wrathe of God 


You that executors be made, 




Upon their uncle fell ; 130 


And overseers eke 




Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house, 


Of children that be fatherless, 


155 


His conscience felt an hell ; 


And infants mild and meek; 




His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consum'd, 


Take you example by this thing, 




His landes were barren made, 


And yield to each his right, 




His cattle dyed within the field, 135 


Lest God with such like miserye 




And nothing with him stayd. 


Your wicked minds requite. 




■ 4^w 

XIX. 




% f oiur ai S ah. 




Printed with a few slight corrections, from 


Yet would I her asse freelye bee, 




the Editor's folio MS. 


Soe shee would helpe, and beare with mee. 




. An' I were as faire as shee, 




A lover of late was I, 


Or shee were as kind as I, 




For Cupid would have it soe, 


What payre cold have made, as wee, 


15 


The boy that hath never an eye, 


Soe prettye a sympathye : 




As every man doth know : 


I was as kind as shee was faire, 




I sighed and sobbed, and cryed, alas ! 


But for all this wee cold not paire. 




For her that laught, and called me ass. 








Paire with her that will for mee, 






With her I will never paire ; 


20 


Then knew not I what to doe, 


That cunningly can be coy, 




When I saw itt was in vaine 


For being a little faire. 




A lady soe coy to wooe, 


The asse He leave to her disdaine ; 




Who gave me the asse soe plaine : 10 


And now I am myselfe againe. 




Ver. 125, these . . . babes, PP. 


Ver. 13, faine, MS. 



THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. 



377 



XX. 



%\t Jling an* lillcr at prtsMr. 



It has been a favourite subject with our 
English ballad-makers to represent our kings 
conversing, either by accident or design, with 
the meanest of their subjects. Of the former 
kind, besides this song of the King and the 
Miller, we have King Henry and the Soldier ; 
King James I. and the Tinker ; King Wil- 
liam III. and the Forester, &c. Of the latter 
sort, are King Alfred and the Shepherd ; 
King Edward IV. and the Tanner; King 

Henry VIII. and the Cobler, &c. A few 

of the best of these are admitted into this 
collection. Both the author of the following 
ballad, and others who have written on the 
same plan, seem to have copied a very ancient 
poem, entitled, "John the Reeve," which is 
built on an adventure of the same kind, that 
happened between King Edward Longshanks 
and one of his Reeves or Bailiffs. This is a 
piece of great antiquity, being written before 
the time of Edward IV., and for its genuine 
humour, diverting incidents, and faithful pic- 
ture of rustic manners, is infinitely superior 
to all that have been since written in imita- 
tion of it. The Editor has a copy in his an- 
cient folio MS., but its length rendered it 
improper for this volume, it consisting of 
more than 900 lines. It contains also some 
corruptions, and the Editor chooses to defer 
its publication, in hopes that some time or 
other he shall be able to remove them. 

The following is printed, with correc- 
tions from the Editor's folio MS. collated 
with an old black-letter copy in the Pepys 
Collection, entitled, " A pleasant ballad of 
King Henry II. and the Miller of Mansfield, 
&c." 

PART THE FIRST. 

Henry, our royall king, would ride a hunting 

To the greene forest so pleasant and faire ; 

To see the harts skipping, and dainty does 

tripping: 

Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire : 

Hawke and hound were unbound, all things 

prepar'd 5 

For the game, in the same, with good regard. 



All a long summers day rode the king plea- 
santlye, 
With all his princes and nobles eche one ; 
Chasing the hart and hind, and the buck gal- 
lantlye, 
Till the dark evening forc'd all to turn 
home. 10 

Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quite 
All his lords in the wood, late in the night. 

Wandering thus wearilye, all alone, up and 
downe, 
With a rude miller he mett at the last ; 
Asking the ready way unto faire Notting- 
ham ; 15 
Sir, quoth the miller, I meane not to jest, 
Yet I thinke, what I thinke, sooth for to say, 
You doe not lightlye ride out of your way. 

Why, what dost thou think of me, quoth our 

king merrily, 
Passing thy judgment upon mo so briefe? 
Good faith sayd the miller, I mean not to 

flatter thee, 21 

I guess thee to bee but some gentleman 

thiefe ; 
Stand thee backe, in the darke; light not 

adowne, 
Lest that I presentlye crack thy knaves 

crowne. 

Thou dost abuse me much, quoth the king, 
saying thus ; 25 

I am a gentleman ; lodging I lacke. 
Thou hast not, quoth th' miller, one groat in 
thy purse ; 
All thy inheritance hangs on thy backe. 
*I have gold to discharge all that I call ; 
If it be forty pence I will pay all. 30 

If thou beest a trueman, then quoth the miller, 
I sweare by my toll-dish, I'll lodge thee all 
night. 
Here's my hand, quoth the king, that was I 
ever. 
Nay, soft, quoth the miller, thou may'st be 
a sprite. 

* The king says this. 



378 



THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. 



Better I'll know thee, ere hands we will 

shake ; 35 

With none but honest men hands will I take. 

Thus they went all along unto the millers 

house : 
Where they were seething of puddings and 

souse : 
The miller first enter'd in, after him went 

the king ; 
Never came hee in soe smokye a house. 40 
Now, quoth hee, let me see here what you 

are. 
Quoth the king, looke your fill, and doe not 

spare. 

I like well thy countenance, thou hast an ho- 
nest face : 
With my son Richard this night thou shalt 
lye. 
Quoth his wife, by my troth, it is a handsome 
youth, 45 

Yet it's best, husband, to deal warilye. 
Art thou no run away, prythee, youth, tell ? 
Show me thy passport, and all shal be well. 

Then our king presentlye, making lowe cour- 
tesy e, 49 

With his hatt in his hand, thus he did say; 
I have no passport, nor never was servitor, 

But a poor courtyer, rode out of my way : 
And for your kindness here offered to mee, 
I will requite you in everye degree. 

Then to the miller his wife whisper'd secret- 
lye, 55 
Saying, It seemeth, this youth's of good 
kin, 

Both by his apparel, and eke by his man- 
ners ; 
To turn him out certainlye, were a great 
sin. 

Yea, quoth hee, you may see, he hath some 
grace 

When he doth speake to his betters in place. 

Well, quo' the millers wife, young man, ye're 

welcome here ; • 61 

And, though I say it, well lodged shall be : 

Fresh straw will I have, laid on thy bed so 

brave, 

And good brown hempen sheets likewise, 

quoth shee. 



Aye, quoth the good man ; and when that is 
done, 65 

Thou shalt lye with no worse than our own 
sonne. 

Nay, first, quoth Richard, good-fellowe, tell 
me true, 
Hast thou noe creepers within thy gay 
hose? 
Or art thou not troubled with the scabbado ? 
I pray, quoth the king, what creatures are 
those ? 70 

Art thou not lowsy, nor scabby ? quoth he : 
If thou beest, surely thou lyest not with mee. 

This caus'd the king, suddenlye, to laugh 
most heartilye, 
Till the teares trickled fast downe from his 
eyes. 74 

Then to their supper were they set orderlye, 
With hot bag-puddings, and good apple- 
pyes; 
Nappy ale, good and stale, in a browne bowle, 
Which did about the board merrilye trowle. 

Here, quoth the miller, good fellowe, I drinke 

to thee, 
And to all ' cuckholds, wherever they bee.' 
I pledge thee, quoth our king, and thanke 

thee heartilye 81 

For my good welcome in everye degree : 
And here, in like manner, I drinke to thy 

sonne. 
Do then, quoth Richard, and quicke let it 

come. 

Wife, quoth the miller, fetch me forth light- 
foote, 85 

And of his sweetnesse a little we'll taste. 

A fair ven'son pastye brought she out pre- 
sentlye, 
Eate, quoth the miller, but, sir, make no 
waste. 

Here's dainty lightfoote ? In faith, sayd the 
king, 

I never before eat so daintye a thing. 90 

I wis, quoth Richard, no daintye at all it is, 
For we doe eate of it everye day. 

In what place, sayd our king, may be bought 
like to this ? 
We never pay pennye for itt, by my fay : 

Ver. 80, courtnalls, that courteous be, MS. and P. 



THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. 



379 



From merry Sherwood we fetch it home here ; 

Now and then we make bold with our kings 

deer. 96 

Then I thinke, sayd our king, that it is veni- 
son. 
Eehe foole, quoth Richard, full well may 
know that : 
Never are wee without two or three in the 
roof, 
Very well fleshed, and excellent fat : 100 
But, prythee, say nothing wherever thou goe; 
We would not, for two pence, the king should 
it knowe. 

Doubt not, then sayd the king, my promist 

secresye ; 
The king shall never know more on't for 

mee. 
A cupp of lambs-wool they dranke unto him 

then, 105 

And to their bedds they past presentlie. 
The nobles, next morning, went all up and 

down, 
For to seeke out the king in everye towne. 

At last, at the millers ' cott,' soone they es- 

py'd him out, 
As he was mounting upon his faire steede ; 
To whom they came presently, falling down 

on their knee; 111 

Which made the millers heart wofully 

bleede ; 
Shaking and quaking, before him he stood, 
Thinking he should have been hang'd, by the 

rood. 114 

The king perceiving him fearfully trembling, 
Drew forth his sword, but nothing he sed : 
The miller downe did fall, crying before them 
all, 
Doubting the king would have cut off his 
head. 
But he his kind courtesye for to requite, 
Gave him great living, and dubb'd him a 
knight. 120 

PART THE SECONDE. 

When as our royall king came home from 
Nottingham, 
And with his nobles at Westminster lay ; 
Recounting the sports and pastimes they had 
taken, 
In this late progress along on the way ; 4 



Of them all, great and small, he did protest, 
The miller of Mansfield's sport liked him best. 

And now, my lords, quoth the king, I am 
determined 
Against St. Georges next sumptuous feast, 
That this old miller, our newconfirm'd knight, 
With his son Richard, shall here be my 
guest : 10 

For, in this merryment, 'tis my desire 
To talke with the jolly knight, and the young 
squire. 

When as the noble lords saw the kinges 

pleasantness, 
They were right joyfull and glad in their 

hearts : 
A pursuivant there was sent straighte on the 

business, 15 

The which had often-times been in those 

parts. 
When he came to the place, where they did 

dwell, 
His message orderlye then 'gan he tell. 

God save your worshippe, then said the mes- 
senger, 
And grant your ladye her own hearts de- 
sire ; 20 

And to your sonne Richard good fortune and 
happiness ; 
That sweet, gentle, and gallant young 
squire. 

Our king greets you well, and thus he doth 
say, 

You must come to the court on St. George's 
day ; 24 

Therfore, in any case, faile not to be in place. 

I wis, quoth the miller, this is an odd jest: 

What should we doe there ? faith, I am halfe 

afraid. 

I doubt, quoth Richard, to be hang'd at 

the least. 

Nay, quoth the messenger, you doe mistake ; 

Our king he provides a great feast for your 

sake. 30 

Then sayd the miller, By my troth, messen- 
ger, 
Thou hast contented my worshippe full well. 
Hold here are three farthings, to quite thy 
gentleness, 
For these happy tydings, which thou dost 
tell. 34 



380 



THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. 



Let me see, hear thou mee ; tell to our king, 1 "Welcome, sir knight, quoth he, with your 



We'll wayt on his mastershipp in everye 
thing. 

The pursuivant smiled at their simplicitye, 
And making many leggs, tooke their re- 
ward ; 

And his leave taking with great humilitye 
To the kings court againe he repaired ; 40 

Shewing unto his grace, merry and free, 

The knightes most liberall gift and bountie. 

When he was gone away, thus gan the miller 

say, 
Here come expences and charges indeed ; 
Now must we needs be brave, tho' we spend 

all we have ; 45 

For of new garments we have great need : 

Of horses and serving-men we must have 

store, 
With bridles and saddles, and twentye things 

more. 

Tushe, Sir John, quoth his wife, why should 
you frett, or frowne ? 49 

You shall ne'er be att no charges for mee ; 
For I will turne and trim up my old russet 
gowne, 
"With everye thing else as fine as may bee; 
And on our mill-horses swift we will ride, 
"With pillowes and pannells, as we shall pro- 
vide. 

In this most statelye sort, rode they unto the 

court, 55 

Their jolly sonne Richard rode foremost of 

all; 
"Who set up, for good hap, a cocks feather in 

his cap, 
--And so they jetted downe to the kings hall; 
The merry old miller with hands on his side ; 
His wife, like maid Marian, did mince at 

that tide. 60 

The king and his nobles that heard of their 
coming, 
Meeting this gallant knight with his brave 
traine ; 



Ver. 57, for good hap : i. e. for good luck ; they were go- 
ing on a hazardous expedition. V. 60, Maid Marian in the 
Morris dance, was represented by a man in woman's 
clothes, who was to take short steps in order to sustain 
the female character. 



gay lady : 
Good Sir John Cockle, once welcome 
againe : 
And so is the squire of courage soe free. 65 
Quoth Dicke, A bots on you do you know mee? 

Quoth our king gentlye, how should I forget 

thee ? 
That wast my owne bed-fellowe, well it I 

wot. 
Yea, sir, quoth Richard, and by the same 

token, 
Thou with thy farting didst make the bed 

hot. 70 

Thou whore-son unhappy knave, then quoth 

the knight, 
Speake cleanly to our king, or else go sh***. 

The king and his courtiers laugh at this 

heartily, 
"While the king taketh them both by the 

hand ; 
"With the court-dames, and maids, like to the 

queen of spades 75 

The millers wife did soe orderly stand. 
A milk-maids courtesye at every word ; 
And downe all the folkes were set to the 

board. 

There the king royally, in princelye majestye, 

Sate at his dinner with joy and delight ; 
When they had eaten well, then he to jesting 
fell, 81 

And in a bowle of wine dranke to the 
knight : 
Here's to you both, in wine, ale and beer ; 
Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer. 

Quoth Sir John Cockle, I'll pledge you a pot- 
tle, 85 
"Were it the best ale in Nottinghamshire : 

But then said our king, now I think of a 
thing ; 
Some of your lightfoote I would we had 
here. 

Ho ! ho ! quoth Richard, full well I may say 
it, 89 

'Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it. 

"Why art thou angry ? quoth our king mer- 
rilye ; 
In faith, I take it now very unkind : 



THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION. 



381 



I thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and 

■wine heartily. 
Quoth Dicke, You are like to stay till I 

have din'd : 94 

You feed us with twatling dishes soe small ; 
Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than 

all. 

Aye, marry, quoth our king, that were a 

daintye thing, 
Could a man get but one here for to eate. 
With that Dicke straite arose, and pluckt one 

from his hose, 99 

Which with heat of his breech gan to sweate. 
The king made a proffer to snatch it away: — 
'Tis meat for your master : good sir you must 

stay. 

Thus in great merriment was the time wholly 
spent ; 
And then the ladyes prepared to dance. 
Old Sir John Cockle, and Richard, inconti- 
nent 105 
Unto their places the king did advance. 



Here with the ladyes such sport they did 

make, 
The nobles with laughing did make their 

sides ake. 

Many thankes for their paines did the king 

give them, 
Asking young Richard then, if he would 

wed ; 110 

Among these ladyes free, tell me wlndi liketh 

thee ? 
Quoth he Jugg Grumball, Sir, with the 

red head : 
She's my love, she's my life, her will I wed ; 
She hath sworn I shall have her maidenhead. 

Then Sir John Cockle the king call'd unto 

him, 115 

And of merry Sherwood made him o'er 

seer; 
And gave him out of hand three hundred 

pound yearlye : 
Take heed now you steale no more of my 

deer: 
And once' a quarter let's here have your view ; 
And now, Sir John Cockle, I bid you adieu. 



XXI. 



W SMprlf a Smlttta. 



This beautiful old song was written by a 
poet, whose name would have been utterly 
forgotten, if it had not been preserved by 
Swift, as a term of contempt. " Dryden and 
Wither" are coupled by him like the "Bavius 
and Mgevius" of Virgil. Dryden however 
has had justice done him by posterity: and 
as for Wither, though of subordinate merit, 
that he was not altogether devoid of genius, 
will be judged from the following stanzas. 
The truth is, Wither was a very voluminous 
party-writer: and as his political and satirical 
strokes rendered him extremely popular in 
his lifetime : so afterwards, when these were 
no longer relished, they totally consigned his 
writings to oblivion. 

George Wither was born June 11, 1588, 
and in his younger years distinguished him- 
self by some pastoral pieces, that were not 



inelegant ; but growing afterwards involved 
in the political and religious disputes in the 
times of James I. and Charles I., he employed 
his poetical vein in severe pasquils on the 
court and clergy, and was occasionally a suf- 
ferer for the freedom of his pen. In the civil 
war that ensued, he exerted himself in the 
service of the Parliament, and became a con- 
siderable sharer in the spoils. He was even 
one of those provincial tyrants, whom Oliver 
distributed over the kingdom, under the name 
of Major Generals ; and had the fleecing of 
the county of Surrey: but, surviving the Re- 
storation, he outlived both his power, and his 
affluence ; and giving vent to his chagrin in 
libels on the court, was long a prisoner in 
Newgate and the Tower. He died at length 
on the 2d of May, 1667. 
During the whole course of his life, Wither 



382 



QUEEN DIDO. 



was a continual publisher ; having generally 
for opponent, Taylor the Water-poet. The 
long list of his productions may be seen in 
Wood's Athenoe Oxon. vol. II. His most 
popular satire is entitled "Abuses whipt and 
stript," 1613. His most poetical pieces were 
eclogues, entitled, " The Shepherd's Hunt- 
ing," 1615, 8vo., and others printed at the 
end of Browne's " Shepherd's Pipe," 1614, 
8vo. The following sonnet is extracted from 
a long pastoral piece of his, entitled " The 
Mistresse of Philarete," 1622, 8vo., which is 
said in the preface to be one of the Author's 
first poems ; and may therefore be dated as 
early as any of the foregoing. 

Shall I, wasting in dispaire, 

Dye because a woman's faire ? 

Or make pale my cheeks with care 

'Cause another's rosie are ? 

Be shee fairer then the day, 5 

Or the flowry meads in may ; 
If she be not so to me, 
What care I how faire shee be ? 



Shall my foolish heart be pin'd 
'Cause I see a woman kind? 
Or a well-disposed nature 
Joyned with a lovely feature ? 



10 



Be shee meeker, kinder, than 

The turtle-dove or pelican : 
If shee be not so to me, 
What care I how kind shee be ? 

Shall a woman's virtues move 
Me to perish for her love ? 
Or, her well-deservings knowne, 
Make me quite forget mine owne ? 
Be shee with that goodnesse blest, 
Which may merit name of Best ; 
If she be not such to me, 
What care I how good she be ? 



15 



20 



25 



Cause her fortune seems too high, 
Shall I play the foole and dye ? 
Those that beare a noble minde, 
Where they want of riches find, 
Thinke what with them they would doe, 
That without them dare to woe ; 30 

And, unlesse that minde I see, 
What care I how great she be ? 



Great or good, or kind or faire, 
I will ne'er the more dispaire : 
If she love me, this beleeve ; 
I will die ere she shall grieve. 
If she'slight me when I wooe, 
I can scorne and let her goe : 
If shee be not fit for me, 
What care I for whom she be ? 



35 



40 



XXII. 



fttun gifo0. 



Such is the title given in the Editor's folio 
MS. to this excellent old ballad, which, in 
the common printed copies, is inscribed, 
" Eneas wandering Prince of Troy." It is 
here given from that MS. collated with two 
different printed copies, both in black letter, 
in the Pepys Collection. 

The reader will smile to observe with what 
natural and affecting simplicity, our ancient 
ballad-maker has engrafted a Gothic conclu- 
sion on the classic story of Virgil, from whom, 
however, it is probable he had it not. Nor 
can it be denied, but he has dealt out his 
poetical justice with a more impartial hand 
than that celebrated poet. 



When Troy towne had, for ten yeeres 
' past,' 
Withstood the Greekes in manfull wise, 
Then did their foes encrease soe fast, 
That to resist none could suffice : 
Wast lye those walls, that were soe good, 5 
And come now growes where Troy towne 
stoode. 

iEneas, wandering prince of Troy, 

When he for land long time had sought, 
At length arriving with great joy, 

To mighty Carthage walls was brought ; 
Where Dido queene, with sumptuous feast, 11 
Did entertaine that wandering guest. 



Ver. 1, 21, war, MS. and PP. 



QUEEN DIDO. 



383 



And, as in hall at meate they sate, 
The queene, desirous newes to heare, 
Says, of thy Troys unhappy fate' 15 

Declare to me thou Trojan deare : 
The heavy hap and chance soe bad, 
That thou, poore wandering prince, hast had. 

And then anon this comelye knight, 

With words demure, as he cold well, 20 
Of his unhappy ten yeares 'fight,' 
Soe true a tale began to tell, 
With wordes soe sweete, and sighs soe deepe, 
That oft he made them all to weepe. 

And then a thousand sighes he fet, 25 

And every sigh brought teares amaine ; 

That where he sate the place was wett, 
As though he had seene those warrs 



Soe that the queene, with ruth therfore, 
Said, Worthy prince, enough, no more. 



JO 



And then the darksome night drew on, 

And twinkling starres the skye bespred ; 
When he his dolefull tale had done, 
And every one was layd in bedd : 
Where they full sweetly tooke their rest, 35 
Save only Dido's boyling brest. 

This silly woman never slept, 

But in her chamber, all alone, 
As one unhappye, alwayes wept, 

And to the walls shee made her mone ; 
That she shold still desire in vaine 41 

The thing, she never must obtaine. 

And thus in grieffe she spent the night, 

Till twinkling starres the skye were fled, 
And Phoebus, with his glistening light, 45 
Through misty cloudes appeared red ; 
Then tidings came to her anon, 
That all the Trojan shipps were gone. 

And then the queene with bloody knife 

Did arme her hart as hard as stone, 50 
Yet, something loth to loose her life, 
In woefull wise she made her mone ; 
And, rowling on her carefull bed, 
With sighes and sobbs, these words she sayd : 

wretched Dido queene ! quoth shee, 55 

I see thy end approacheth neare ; 
For hee is fled away from thee, 

Whom thou didst love and hold so deare : 
What is he gone, and passed by ? 
hart, prepare thyselfe to dye. 60 

49 



Though reason says, thou shouldst forbeare, 
And stay thy hand from bloudy stroke ; 
Yet fancy bids thee not to fear, 

Which fetter'd thee in Cupids yoke. 64 
Come death, quoth shee, resolve my smart! — 
And with those words shee peerced her hart. 

When death had pierced the tender hart 

Of Dido, Carthaginian queene ; 
Whose bloudy knife did end the smart, 
Which shee sustain'd in mournfull teene; 
^Eneas being shipt and gone, 71 

Whose flattery caused all her mone ; 

Her funerall most costly made, 

And all things finisht mournfullye ; 
Her body fine in mold was laid, 75 

Where itt consumed speedilye : 
Her sisters teares her tombe bestrewde ; 
Her subjects griefe their kindnesse shewed. 

Then was iEneas in an ile 

In Grecya, where he stayd long space 80 
Whereas her sister in short while 
Writt to him to his vile disgrace ; 
In speeches bitter to his mind 
Shee told him plaine he was unkind. 84 

False-harted wretch, quoth shee, thou art ; 

And traiterouslye thou hast betraid 
Unto thy lure a gentle hart, 

Which unto thee much welcome made ; 
My sister deare, and Carthage' joy, 
Whose folly bred her deere annoy. 90 

Yett on her death-bed when shee lay, 

Shee prayd for thy prosperitye, 
Beseeching god, that every day 
Might breed thy great felicitye : 
Thus by thy meanes I lost a friend ; 95 

Heaven send thee such untimely end. 

When he these lines, full fraught with gall, 

Perused had, and wayed them right, 
His lofty courage then did fall ; 

And straight appeared in his sight 100 
Queene Dido's ghost, both grim and pale : 
Which made this valliant souldier quaile. 



iEneas, quoth this ghastly ghost, 

My whole delight when I did live, 
Thee of all men I loved most ; 
My fancy and my will did give ; 
For entertainment I thee gave, 
Unthankefully thou didst me grave. 



105 



3SI 



tiim urn 'I IKS' SONG. 



Therfore prepare thy flitting soule 
To wander with me in the aire : 110 

Where d Llye griefe shall make it bowle, 

Beoause of me thou tookest ao care: 
Delay not time, thy glasse in run, 
Thy date is past,, thy life is done. 

stay a while, thou lovely sprite, 1 L5 

Be i>'ii soe bs »ty to oonvay 
My soule into eternal] night) 
Where in shall ne're behold bright day: 
o doe not frowne ; thy angry Looke 

llalh 'all my senile with boiTOI shooko.' 120 
But, woe is mi' ! all is in vaino, 

And bootless is my dismal) orye; 

Time will mil, lie recalled arable, 
Not thou siireca.se before I dye. 



Lett me live, and make amends 125 
To some of thy most dearest friends. 

But Beeing thou obdurate art, 
Ami wilt, mi pittye on me show, 

Beoause trom thee I did depart, 
Ami left unpaid what I did owe: 130 

1 must, content my die to lake 

What lott to me thou wilt partake. 
Ami thus, as one being in a trance, 

A multitude of uglye feinds 

A limit this woil'iill prince did dance; 135 

Hi' hail no belpe Of any I'rieiuls ; 
I [is body then I hey looke away, 
\m! no man knew his dying day. 



XXIII. 



%\)t miittW Song. 



— From Ben Jonson'a Masque of Queens, 

presented at, Whitehall, Teh. '2, 1609. 

The Editor thought it- incumbent on him 

tu insert some old pieces on the popular 

superstition concerning witches, hobgoblins, 

fairies, and ghosts. The last of these make 
their appearance in most, of Ihe tragical bal- 
lads; and in the following son^s will bo 
found some description of the former. 

It is truo, this son^ of the Witches, falling 

from the learned pen of lien Jonson, is rather 
an e\lract, IVom I he various incantations of 

classical antiquity, than a display of the opin- 
ions of our own vulgar. But let, it, he obser- 
ved, that, a parcel of Learned wiseacres had 
just, before busied themselves on this subject, 
in compliment to King James I., whose weak 

liess on this head is well known: and these 
had so ransacked all writers, aneienl and 
modern, and so blended ami kneaded together 

the several superstitious of diU'crent, times 

ami nations, that, those of genuine English 
growth could no longer be traced out, ami dis- 
tinguished! 

Vor. 120, MS. Datb made my bre&the my lift I 



By gOOd luck the whimsical belief of fairies 

and goblins oould furnish no protonco for 
torturing mir fellow creatures, and thoroforo 

we have Ibis handed ilown to US pure and 
unsophisticated. 

1 WITCH. 

I iiavk been all day looking after 

A raven feeding upon a quarter: 

And, soone as she turn'd hor beak to the 

south, 
I snatoh'd this morsell out of her mouth. 

2 WITCH. 

I have beene gathering wolves haircs, 5 

The maild doggBS foaines, and adders rjiri j 

'flm spurging of a, deadmans eyes: 

Ami all since (he evening starre did rise. 

3 WITCH. 

I last, night lay all alone '.* 

0' the ground, to beare the mandrake 

And pluokt him up, though he grew lull low: 

And, as I had done, the cocko did crow. 



uoi'.iN <;ooi> Fi;u>ow. 



?W> 



4 witch. 

And I lia' beene ohusing out this scull 
Prom eharnell houses that were lull ; 
From private grots, and publike pits; 15 
And frighted a Bezto it of his wits. 

5 WITCH. 

Onder a cradle I 'li'l crepe 
By day ; and; when Hie childe was a-sleepe 
At night, I suck'd the breath ; and rose, L9 
And pluck'd the nodding nurse by the noso. 

(» WITCH. 

I had a dagger: what did I with that? 

Killed an infant to have his fat. 

A pip^r it got at a church-ale. 

J bade him again blow wind i' the tailo. 

7 WITCH. 

A murderer, yonder, was hung in ohaines ; 
The sunne and the wind had shrunko his 
vein en : 26 

I bit off a sinew ; I clipp'd his haire ; 

I brought off his ragges, that dane'd i' the 
ayro. 

8 WITCH. 

Tho scrich-owles egges and the feathers 

blacke, 
The bloud of the frogge, and the bone in bis 

backe 30 



I have been getting; and made of liis skin 
A purset, to keepe Sir Oranion in. 

9 wiTcn. 

And ( ha' beene plucking (plants among) 

Bemlook, henbane, adders-tongue, 

Nighl ihade, moone-wort, libbards-bane ; 85 

And twisc by the dogges was like to be tanr:. 

10 WITCH. 

I iViiiH the jawes of a gardiner's bitch 

Did snatch these bones, and then leap'd the 

ditch : 
Yet went I back to the house againe, 39 

Kill'd the blaeke eat, and here IS the braine. 

11 WITCH. 

F went, to tie- toad, brcedcH under the wall, 
1 charmed him out, and ho came at my call ; 

I scratched out, the eyes of the owle before ; 

I ton the batts wing: what would you have 
more? 



Yes: I have brought, to helpe your vows, 45 
Horned poppie, oypresse boughes, 

The fig-tree wild, that growes on tombes, 

And juice, that from the h.reh-tree COmCS, 
The basiliskes bloud, and the vipers 

skin : 
And now our orgies let's begin. 



XXIV. 



g0foin 600Mdhto, 



— Amas Pucke, alias Hobgoblin', in the 

creed of ancient superstition, was a kind of 

merry sprite, whose character and achieve- 
ments are recorded in this ballad, and in those 
well-known lines of Milton's [/Allegro, which 
the antiquarian Peck supposes to be owing to 
it: 

" Tells how the drudging GoBLIK swet 
To earn his crea.me-bowlc duly set: 
When in one night, ere glimpse of morne, 
His shadowy flail hath thrcsh'd the corn 
That ten day-labourers could not end; 
Then lies him down the lubber fiend, 



And Stretch'd out, all the chimney length, 

Basks at the fire, his hairy strength, 

And crop-full out of door:-; he flings, 

Ere the first cori< his matins rings." 

The reader will observe that, our simple 
ancestors bad reduced all these whimsies to 
a kind of system, an, regular, and perhaps 

more consistent, than ninny parts of classic 

mythology : a [.roof of tie-, extensive influence 
and vast antiquity of these superstitions. 
Mankind, and especially the common people, 

could not everywhere have been so ununi- 



386 



ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW. 



mously agreed concerning these arbitrary 
notions, if they had not prevailed among 
them for many ages. Indeed, a learned friend 
in Wales assures the Editor, that the exist- 
ence of Fairies and Goblins is alluded to by 
the most ancient British Bards, who mention 
them under various names, one of the most 
common of which signifies " The spirits of 
the mountains." See also Preface to Song 
XXV. 

This song, which Peck attributes to Ben 
Jonson (though it is not found among his 
works) is chiefly printed from an ancient 
black-letter copy in the British Museum. It 
seems to have been originally intended for 
some Masque. 

This ballad is entitled, in the old black- 
letter copies, " The merry Pranks of Robin 
Goodfellow. To the tune of Dulcina," &c. 
(See No. XIII. above.) 

From Oberon, in fairye land, 

The king of ghosts and shadowes there, 
Mad Robin I, at his command, 

Am sent to viewe the night-sports here. 

What revell rout 5 

Is kept about, 
In every corner where I go, 

I will o'ersee, 

And merry bee, 
And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho ! 10 

More swift than lightening can I flye 

About this aery welkin soone, 
And, in a minutes space, descrye 
Each thing that's done belowe the moone, 

There's not a hag 15 

Or ghost shall wag, 
Or cry, ware Goblins ! where I go ; 

But Robin I 

Their feates will spy, 
And send them home, with ho, ho, ho ! 20 

Whene'er such wanderers I meete, 
As from their night-sports they trudge 
home ; 
With counterfeiting voice I greete, 
And call them on, with mee to roame 

Thro' woods, thro' lakes, 25 

Thro' bogs, thro' brakes ; 
Or else, unseene, with them I go, 
All in the nicke 
To play some tricke 
And frolicke it, with ho, ho, ho ! 30 



Sometimes I meete them like a man ; 

Sometimes, an ox, sometimes, a hound ; 
And to a hoi'se I turn me can ; 

To trip and trot about them round. 

But if, to ride, 35 

My backe they stride, 
More swift than winde away I go, 

Ore hedge and lands, 

Thro' pools and ponds 
I whirry, laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 40 

When lads and lasses merry be, 

With possets and with juncates fine ; 
Unseene of all the company, 
I eat their cakes and sip their wine ; 

And, to make sport, 45 

I fart and snort ; 
And out the candles I do blow : 

The maids I kiss ; 

They shrieke — Who's this ? 
I answer nought, but ho, ho, ho ! 50 

Yet now and then, the maids to please, 

At midnight I card up their wooll ; 
And while they sleepe, and take their ease, 
With wheel to threads their flax I pull. 

I grind at mill 55 

Their malt up still ; 
I dress their hemp, I spin their tow. 

If any 'wake, 

And would me take, 
I wend me, laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 60 

When house or harth doth sluttish lye, 
I pinch the maidens black and blue ; 
The bed-clothes from the bedd pull I 
And lay them naked all to view. 

'Twixt sleepe and wake, 65 

I do them take, 
And on the key-cold floor them throw. 

If out they cry, 

Then forth I fly, 
And loudly laugh out, ho, ho, ho ! 70 

When any need to borrowe ought, 

We lend them what they do require : 
And for the use demand we nought ; 
Our owne is all we do desire. 

If to repay, 75 

They do delay, 
Abroad amongst them then I go, 

And night by night, 

I them affright 79 

With pinchings, dreames, and ho, ho, ho ! 



When lazie queans have nought to do, 

But study how to cog and lye ; 
To make debate and mischief too, 
'Twist one another secretlye : 

I marke their gloze, 

And it disclose, 
To them whom they have wronged so ; 

When I have done, 

I get me gone, 
And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho ! 



85 



90 



When men do traps and engins set 

In loope holes, where the vermine creepe, 
Who from their foldes and houses, get 
Their duckes and geese, and lambes and 
sheepe : 
I spy the gin, 95 

And enter in, 
And seeme a vermine taken so ; 
But when they there 
Approach me neare, 
I lean out laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 100 



By wells and rills, in meadowes greene, 
We nightly dance our hey-day guise ; 
And to our fairye king and queene 
We chant our moon-light minstrelsies. 

When larks gin sing, 105 

Away we fling ; 
And babes new borne steal as we go, 

And elfe in bed 

We leave instead, 
And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 110 

From hag-bred Merlin's time have I 
Thus nightly revelPd to and fro : 
And for my pranks men call me by 
The name of Robin Good-felldw. 

Fiends, ghosts, and sprites, 115 

Who haunt the nightes, 
The hags and goblins do me know ; 

And beldames old 

My feates have told ; 
So Vale, Vale; ho, ho, ho! 120 



XXV. 



%\t fairs $tt*tn. 



We have here a short display of the popu- 
lar belief concerning Fairies. It will afford 
entertainment to a contemplative mind to 
trace these whimsical opinions up to their 
origin. Whoever considers, how early, how 
extensively, and how uniformly, they have 
prevailed in these nations, will not readily 
assent to the hypothesis of those who fetch 
them from the East so late as the time of the 
Croisades. Whereas it is well known that 
our Saxon ancestors, long before they left 
their German forests, believed the existence 
of a kind of diminutive demons, or middle 
species between men and spirits, whom they 
called Duergar or Dwarfs, and to whom they 
attributed many wonderful performances, far 
exceeding human art. Vid. Hervarer Saga 
Olaj Verelj. 1675. Hickes Thesaur. &c. 

This Song is given (with some corrections 
by another copy) from a book entitled " The 
Mysteries of Love and Eloquence, &c." 
Lond. 1648. 8vo. 



Come, follow, follow me, 
You, fairy elves that be : 
Which circle on the greene, 
Come follow Mab your queene. 
Hand in hand let's dance around, 
For this place is fairye ground. 



When mortals are at rest, 
And snoring in their nest ; 
Unheard, and unespy'd, 
Through key-holes we do glide ; 
Over tables, stools and shelves, 
We trip it with our fairy elves. 



10 



And, if the house be foul 

With platter, dish, or bowl, 

Up stairs we nimbly creep, 15 

And find the sluts asleep : 
There we pinch their amies and thighes; 
None escapes, nor none espies. 



388 



THE FAIKIES FAREWELL. 



But if the house be swept, 

And from uncleanness kept, 20 

We praise the household maid, 

And duely she is paid : 
For we use before we goe 
To drop a tester in her shoe. 

Upon a mushroomes head 25 

Our table-cloth we spread ; 

A grain of rye, or wheat, 

Is manehet, which we eat ; 
Pearly drops of dew we drink 
In acorn cups fill'd to the brink. 30 

The brains of nightingales, 
With unctuous fat of snailes, 
Between two cockles stew'd, 
Is meat that's easily chew'd ; 



Tailes of wormes, and marrow of mice 35 
Do make a dish, that's wonderous nice. 



The grashopper, gnat, and fly, 

Serve for our minstrelsie ; 

Grace said, we dance a while, 

And so the time beguile : 
And if the moon doth hide her head, 
The gloe-worm lights us home to bed. 



40 



On tops of dewie grasse 
So nimbly do we passe, 
The young and tender stalk 
Ne'er bends when we do walk : 
Yet in the morning may be seen 
Where we the night before have been. 



45 



XXVI. 



%\t imm |ar*ML 



This humorous old song fell from the hand 
of the witty Dr. Corbet (afterwards Bishop 
of Norwich, &c), and is printed from his 
Poetica Stromata, 1648, 12nio. (compared 
with the third edition of his poems, 1672). 
It is there called "A proper new Ballad, en- 
titled, The Fairies Farewell, or God-a-mercy 
Will, to be sung or whistled to the tune of 
The Meddow Brow, by the learned ; by the 
unlearned, to the tune of Fortune." 

The departure of Fairies is here attributed 
to the abolition of monkery: Chaucer has, 
with equal humour, assigned a cause the very 
reverse, in his " Wife of Bath's Tale." 



" In olde dayes of the King Artour, 
Of which that Bretons speken gret honour, 
All was this lond fulfilled of faerie ; 
The elf-quene, with hire joly compagnie 
Danced ful oft in many a grene mede. 
This was the old opinion as I rede ; 
I speke of many hundred yeres ago ; 
But now can no man see non elves mo, 
For now the grete charitee and prayeres 
Of limitoures and other holy freres, 
That serchen every land and every streme, 
As thikke as motes in the sonne beme, 



Blissing halles, chambres, kichenes, and 

boures, 
Citees and burghes, castles high, and toures, 
Thropes and bernes, shepenes and dairies, 
This maketh that ther ben no faeries : 
For ther as wont to walken was an elf, 
Ther walketh now the limitour himself, 
In undermeles and in morweninges, 
And sayth his Matines and his holy thinges, 
As he goth in his limitatioun. 
Women may now go safely up and doun, 
In every bush, and under every tree, 
Ther is non other incubus but he, 
And he ne will don hem no dishonour." 

Tyrwhitt's Chaucer, I. p. 255. 

Dr. Richard Corbet, having been bishop 
of Oxford about three years, and afterwards 
as long bishop of Norwich, died in 1635, 
setat 52. 

Farewell rewards and Fairies ! 

Good housewives now may say ; 
For now foule sluts in dairies, 

Doe fare as well as they : 
And though they sweepe their hearths no less 

Than mayds were wont to doe, 6 

Yet who of late for cleaneliness 

Finds sixe-pence in her shoe ? 



THE FAIRIES FAREWELL. 



389 



Lament, lament old Abbies, 

The fairies lost command ; 10 

They did but change priests babies, 

But some have chang'd your land : 
And all your children stoln from thence 

Are now growne Puritanes, 
Who live as changelings ever since, 15 

For love of your demaines. 

At morning and at evening both 

You merry were and glad, 
So little care of sleepe and sloth, 

These prettie ladies had. 20 

When Tom came home from labour, 

Or Ciss to milking rose, 
Then merrily went their tabour, 

And nimbly went their toes. 

Witness those rings and roundelayes 25 

Of theirs, which yet remaine ; i 
Were footed in Queene Maries dayes 

On many a grassy playne. 
But since of late Elizabeth 

And later James came in ; 30 

They never danc'd on any heath, 

As when the time hath bin. 

By which wee note the fairies 

Were of the old profession : 
Their songs were Ave Maries, 35 

Their dances were procession. 
But now, alas ! they all are dead, 

Or gone beyond the seas, 
Or farther for religion fled, 

Or else they take their ease. 40 

A tell-tale in their company 

They never could endure ; 
And whoso kept not secretly 

Their mirth, was punish'd sure : 
It was a just and Christian deed 45 

To pinch such blacke and blue : 
how the common-welth doth need 

Such justices as you ! 

Now they have left our quarters ; 

A Register they have, 50 

Who can preserve their charters ; 

A man both wise and grave. 
An hundred of their merry pranks, 

By one that I could name 
Are kept in store ; con twenty thanks 55 

To William for the same. 



To William Churne of Staffordshire 

Give laud and praises due, 
Who every meale can mend your cheare 

With tales both old and true : 60 

To William all give audience, 

And pray yee for his noddle : 
For all the fairies evidence 

Were lost, if it were addle. 

*#* After these songs on the fairies, the 
reader may be curious to see the manner in 
which they were formerly invoked and bound 
to human service. In Ashmole's collection 
of MSS. at Oxford [Num. 8259, 1406, 2,] are 
the papers of 'some Alchymist, which contain 
a variety of Incantations and Forms of Con- 
juring both Fairies, Witches, and Demons, 
principally, as it should seem, to assist him 
in his great work of transmuting metals. 
Most of'them are too impious to be reprinted ; 
but the two following may be very innocently 
laughed at. 

Whoever looks into Ben Jonson's "Alchy- 
mist," will find that these imposters, among* 
their other secrets, affected to have a power 
over Fairies : and that they were commonly 
expected to be seen in a crystal glass appears 
from that extraordinary book, "The Relation 
of Dr. John Dee's action with Spirits, 1659," 
folio. 

" An excellent way to gett a Fayrie. (For 
myself I call Margarett Barrance ; but this 
will obteine any one that is not allready 
bownd.) 

"First, gett a broad square christall or 
Venice glasse, in length and breadth three 
inches. Then lay that glasse or christall in 
the bloud of a white henne, three Wednes- 
dayes, or three Fridayes. Then take it out, 
and wash it with holy aq. and fumigate it. 
Then take three hazle sticks, or wands of an 
yeare groth ; pill them fayre and white ; and 
make ' them' soe longe, as you write the 
Spiritts name, or Fayries name, which you 
call, three times on every sticke being made 
flatt on one side. Then bury them under 
some hill, whereas you suppose Fayries 
haunt, the Wednesday before you call her: 
and the Friday followinge take them uppe, 
and call her at eight or three or ten of the 
clocke, which be good planetts and houres for 
that turne : but when you call, be in cleane 



590 



THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE. 



life, and turne thy face towards the east. 
And -when you have her, bind her to that 
stone or glasse." 

"An unguent to annoynt under the eyelids, 
and upon the eyelids eveninge and morn- 
inge : but especially when you call ; or 
find your sight not perfect. 

" R. A pint of sallet-oyle, and put it into 
a viall glasse : but first wash it with rose- 
water, and marygold-water : the flowers ' to' 
be gathered towards the east. Wash it till 
the oyle come white ; then put it into the 
glasse, ut supra: and then put thereto the 
budds of holyhocke, the flowers of marygold, 
the flowers or toppes of wild thime, the 
budds of young hazle : and the thime must 
be gathered neare the side of a hill where 
Fayries use to be : and ' take' the grasse of 
a fayrie throne, there. All these put into 
the oyle, into the glasse : and set it to dissolve 



three dayes in the cunne, and then keep it 
for thy use ; ut supra." 

After this receipt for the unguent follows 
a Form of Incantation, wherein the Alchy 
mist conjures a Fairy, named Elaby Gathon, 
to appear to him in that chrystall glass, 
meekly and mildly ; to resolve him truly in 
all manner of questions ; and to be obedient 
to all his commands, under pain of damna- 
tion, &c. 

One of the vulgar opinions about Fairies is, 
that they cannot be seen by human eyes, 
without a particular charm exerted in favour 
of the person who is to see them : and that 
they strike with blindness such as, having 
the gift of seeing them, take notice of them 
mal a-propos. 

As for the hazle sticks mentioned above, 
they were to be probably of that species 
called the "Witch Hazle;" which received 
its name from this manner of applying it in 
incantations. 



THE END OF BOOK THE SECOND. 



SERIES THE THIRD. 
BOOK III. 



%\t §irt| 0f Si tep. 



The incidents in this, and the other ballad 
of " St. George and the Dragon," are chiefly 
taken from the old story-book of the Seven 
Champions of Christendome ; which, though 
now the plaything of children, was once in 
high repute. Bp. Hall, in his satires, pub- 
lished in 1597, ranks 

" St. George's sorell, and his cross of blood," 

among the most popular stories of his time ; 
and an ingenious critic thinks that Spenser 
himself did not disdain to borrow hints from 
it ;* though I much doubt whether this popu- 

* Mr. Wharton. Vid. Observations on the Fairy Queen, 
2 vol. 1762, 12mo. passim. 



lar romance were written so early as the 
Faery Queen. 

The author of this book of the Seven 
Champions was one Richard Johnson, who 
lived in the reigns of Elizabeth and James, 
as we collect from his other publications ; 
viz. — " The nine worthies of London : 1592," 
4to. — " The pleasant walks of Moor fields : 
1607," 4to. — " A crown garland of Goulden 
Roses, gathered, &c: 1612," 8vo.— "The life 
and death of Rob. Cecill, E. of Salisbury, 
1612," 4to.— " The Hist, of Tom of Lincoln," 
4to., is also by R. J., who likewise reprinted 
" Don Flores of Greece," 4to. 

The Seven Champions, though written in a 
wild inflated style, contains some strong 



THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE. 



391 



Gothic painting ; which seems for the most 
part, copied from the metrical romances of 
former ages. At least the story of St. George 
and the fair Sabra is taken almost verbatim 
from the old poetical legend of " Sir Bevis 
of Hampton." 

This very antique poem was in great fame 
in Chaucer's time [see above pag. 352], and 
is so continued till the introduction of print- 
ing, when it ran through several editions, two 
of which are in black-letter, 4to., " imprinted 
by Wyllyam Copland," without date; con- 
taining great variations. 

As a specimen of the poetic powers of this 
very old rhymist, and as a proof how closely 
the author of the Seven Champions has fol- 
lowed him, take a description of the dragon 
slain by Sir Bevis. 

" Whan the dragon, that foule is, 

Had a syght of Syr Bevis, 

He cast up a loude cry, 

As it had thondred in the sky ; 

He turned his bely towarde the son ; 

It was greater than any tonne : 

His scales was bryghter then the glas, 

And harder they were than any bras : 

Betwene his shulder and his tayle, 

Was forty fote withoute fayle. 

He waltred out of his denne, 

And Bevis pricked his stede then, 

And to hym a spere he thraste 

That all to shyvers he it braste : 

Tbe dragon then gan Bevis assayle, 

And smote Syr Bevis with his tayle: 

Then downe went horse and man, 

And two rybbes of Bevis brused than. 

After a long fight, at length, as the dragon 
was preparing to fly, Sir Bevis 

" Hit him under the wynge, 
As he was in his flyenge, 
There he was tender without scale, 
And Bevis thought to be his bale. 
He smote after, as I you saye, 
With his good sword Morglaye. 

- Up to the hiltes Morglay yode 
Through harte, ly ver, bone, and bloude ; 
To the ground fell the dragon, 
Great joye Syr Bevis begon. 
Under the scales al on hight : 
He smote off his head forth right, 
And put it on a spere : &c." Sign K. iv. 
50 



Sir Bevis's dragon is evidently the parent 
of that in the Seven Champions, see Chap. 
III., viz. — " The dragon no sooner had a 
sight of him [St. George] but he gave such 
a terrible peal, as though it had thundered 
in the elements. . . . Betwixt his shoulders 
and his tail were fifty feet in distance, his 
scales glistering as bright as silver, but far 
more hard than brass ; his belly of the colour 
of gold, but bigger than a tun. Thus wel- 
tered he from his den, &c. . . . The champion 
. . . gave the dragon such a thrust with his 
spear, that it shivered in a thousand pieces: 
whereat the furious dragon so fiercely smote 
him with his venomous tail, that down fell 
man and horse: in which fall two of St. 

George's ribs were so bruised, &c. At 

length .... St. George smote the dragon 
under the wing where it was tender without 
scale, whereby his good sword Ascalon with 
an easie passage went to the very hilt through 
both the dragon's heart, liver, bone, and 
blood. — Then St. George cut off the dragon's 
head, and pitcht it upon the truncheon of a 
spear, &c." 

The History of the Seven Champions, being 
written just before the decline of books of 
chivalry, was never, I believe, translated into 
any foreign language : but " Le Roman de 
Beuves of Hantonne" was published at Paris 
in 1502, 4to., Let. Gothique. 

The learned Selden tells us, that about the 
time of the Norman invasion was Bevis 
famous with the title of Earl of Southamp- 
ton, whose residence was at Duncton in Wilt- 
shire : but he observes, that the .monkish 
enlargements of his story have made his very 
existence doubted. See Notes on Poly-Olbion, 
Song III. 

This hath also been the case of St. George 
himself, whose martial history is allowed to 
be apocryphal. But, to prove that there 
really existed an orthodox Saint of this name 
(although little or nothing, it seems, is known 
of his genuine story), is the subject of "An 
Historical and Critical Inquiry into the Exist- 
ence and Character of St. George, &c. By 
the Rev. J. Milner, F.S.A., 1792, 8vo." 

The Equestrian Figure worn by the Knights 
of the Garter, has been understood to be an 
emblem of the Christian warrior, in his 
spiritual armour, vanquishing the old serpent. 

But on this subject the inquisitive reader 
may consult "A Dissertation on the Original 



392 



THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE. 



of the Equestrian Figure of the George and 
of the Garter, ensigns of the most noble order 
of that name. Illustrated with copper-plates. 
By John Pettingal, A.M., Fellow of the So- 
ciety of Antiquaries, London, 1753," 4to. 
This learned and curious work the author of 
the Historical and Critical Inquiry would have 
done well to have seen. 

It cannot be denied, but that the following 
ballad is for the most part modern : for which 
reason it would have been thrown to the end 
of the volume, had not its subject procured 
it a place here. 

Listen, lords, in bower and hall, 

I sing the wonderous birth 
Of brave St. George, whose valorous arm, 

Rid monsters from the earth : 

Distressed ladies to relieve 5 

He travell'd many a day ; 
In honour of the Christian faith, 

Which shall endure for aye. 

In Coventry sometime did dwell 

A knight of worthy fame, 10 

High steward of this noble realme ; 
Lord Albert was his name. 

He had to wife a princely dame, 

Whose beauty did excell. 
This virtuous lady, being with child, 15 

In sudden sadness fell : 

For thirty nights no sooner sleep 

Had clos'd her wakeful eyes, 
But lo ! a foul and fearful dream 

Her fancy would surprize : 20 

She dreamt a dragon fierce and fell 

Conceiv'd within her womb ; 
Whose mortal fangs her body rent 

Ere he to life could come. 

All woe-begone, and sad was she ; 25 

She nourisht constant woe : 
Yet strove to hide it from her lord, 

Lest he should sorrow know. 

In vain she strove ; her tender lord, 

Who watch'd her slightest look, 30 

Discover' d soon her secret pain, 
And soon that pain partook. 



And when to him the fearful cause 

She weeping did impart, 
With kindest speech he strove to heal 35 

The anguish of her heart. 

Be comforted, my lady dear, 

Those pearly drops refrain ; 
Betide me weal, betide me woe, 

I'll try to ease thy pain. 40 

And for this foul and fearful dream, 

That causeth all thy woe, 
Trust me I'll travel far away 

But I'll the meaning knowe. 

Then giving many a fond embrace, 45 

And shedding many a teare, 
To the weird lady of the woods, 

He purpos'd to repaire. 

To the we'ird lady of the woods, 
Full long and many a day, 50 

Thro' lonely shades, and thickets rough 
He winds his weary way. 

At length he reach'd a dreary dell 

With dismal yews o'erhung ; 
Where cypress spred its mournful boughs, 

And pois'nous nightshade sprung. 56 

No chearful gleams here pierc'd the gloom, 

He hears no chearful sound ; 
But shrill night-ravens' yelling scream, 

And serpents hissing round.f 60 

The shriek of fiends and damned ghosts 

Ran howling thro' his ear : 
A chilling horror froze his heart, 

Tho' all unus'd to fear. 

Three times he strives to win his way, 65 
And pierce those sickly dews : 

Three times to bear his trembling corse 
His knocking knees refuse. 

At length upon his beating breast 
He signs the holy crosse ; 70 

And, rouzing up his wonted might, 
He treads th' unhallowed mosse. 

Beneath a pendent craggy cliff, 

All vaulted like a grave, 
And opening in the solid rock, 75 

He found the inchanted cave. 



THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE. 



393 



An iron gate clos'd up the mouth, 

All hideous and forlorne ; 
And, fasten'd by a silver chaine, 

Near hung a brazed home. 80 

Then offering up a secret prayer, 
Three times he blowes amaine: 

Three times a deepe and hollow sound 
Did answer him againe. 

" Sir knight, thy lady beares a son, 85 

Who, like a dragon bright, 
Shall prove most dreadful to his foes, 

And terrible in fight. 

" His name advanc'd in future times 
On bannei-s shall be worn : 90 

But lo ! thy lady's life must passe 
Before he can be born." 



All sore opprest with fear and doubt 
Long time Lord Albert stood ; 

At length he winds his doubtful way 
Back thro' the dreary wood. 



95 



Eager to clasp his lovely dame 

Then fast he travels back : 
But when he reach'd his castle gate, 

His gate was hung in black. 100 

In every court and hall he found 

A sullen silence reigne ; 
Save where, amid the lonely towers, 

He heard her maidens 'plaine ; 

And bitter lye lament and weep, 105 

With many a grievous grone : 

Then sore his bleeding heart misgave, 
His lady's life was gone. 

With faultering step he enters in, 

Yet half affraid to goe ; 110 

With trembling voice asks why they grieve, 
Yet fears the cause to knowe. 

"Three times the sun hath rose and set;" 
They said, then stopt to weep : 

Since heaven hath laid thy lady deare 115 
In death's eternal sleep. 

" For, ah ! in travel sore she fell 

So sore that she must dye ; 
Unless some shrewd and cunning leech 
' Could ease her presentlye. 120 



" But when a cunning leech was fet, 

Too soon declared he, 
She, or the babe must lose its life ; 

Both saved could not be. 

" Now take my life, thy lady said, 125 

My little infant save : 
And O commend me to my lord, 

When I am laid in grave. 

" O tell him how that precious babe 

Cost him a tender wife : 130 

And teach my son to lisp her name, 
Who died to save his life. 

" Then calling still upon thy name, 

And praying still for thee ; 
Without repining or complaint, 135 

Her gentle soul did flee." 

What tongue can paint Lord Albret's woe, 

The bitter tears he shed, 
The bitter pangs that wrung his heart, 

To find his lady dead ? 140 

He beat his breast : he tore his hair ; 

And shedding many a tear, 
At length he askt to see his son ; 

The son that cost so dear. 

New sorrowe seiz'd the damsells all : 145 
At length they faultering say : 

" Alas ! my lord, how shall we tell? 
Thy son is stoln away. 

" Fair as the sweetest flower of spring, 
Such was his infant mien : 150 

And on his little body stampt 

Three wonderous marks were seen : 

" A blood-red cross was on his arm ; 

A dragon on his breast : 
A little garter all of gold 155 

Was round his leg exprest. 

" Three carefull nurses we provide 

Our little lord to keep : 
One gave him sucke, one gave him food, 

And one did lull to sleep. 160 

" But lo ! all in the dead of night, 

We heard a fearful sound : 
Loud thunder clapt ; the castle shook ; 

And lightning flasht around. 



394 ST. GEORGE 


AND THE DRAGON. 


" Dead with affright at first we lay ; 


1C5 


Whose vigorous arms are torne away 


But rousing up anon, 




By some rude thunder -stroke. 


We ran to see our little lord : 






Our little lord was gone ! 




At length his castle irksome grew, 185 
He loathes his wonted home ; 


" But how or where we could not tell ; 




His native country he forsakes, 


For lying on the ground, 


170 


In foreign lands to roame. 


In deep and magic slumbers laid, 






The nurses there we found." 




There up and downe he wandered far, 
Clad in a palmer's gown : 190 


grief on grief ! Lord Albret said : 




Till his brown locks grew white as wool, 


No more his tongue could say, 




His beard as thistle down. 


When falling in a deadly swoone, 


175 




Long time he lifeless lay. 




At length, all wearied, down in death 
He laid his reverend head. 


At length restor'd to life and sense 




Meantime amid the lonely wilds 195 


He nourisht endless woe, 




His little son was bred. 


No future joy his heart could taste, 






No future comfort know. 


180 


There the weird lady of the woods 
Had borne him far away, 


So withers on the mountain top 




And train'd him up in feates of armes, 


A fair and stately oake, 




And every martial play. 200 

*** 


II. 

St. (itayt an& % grapn. 


The following ballad is given (with some 


The gi-ief whereof did grow so great 


corrections) from two ancient black-letter co- 


Throughout the limits of the land, 20 


pies in the Pepys Collection : one of which is 


That they were wise men did intreat 


in 12mo., the other in folio. 




To shew their cunning out of hand ; 
What way they might this fiend destroy, 


Of Hector's deeds did Homer sing ; 




That did the country thus annoy. 


And of the sack of stately Troy, 






What griefs fair Helena did bring, 




The wise men all before the king, 25 


Which was Sir Paris' only joy: 




This answer fram'd incontinent; 


And by my pen I will recite 


5 


The dragon none to death might bring 


St. George's deeds, an English knight. 




By any means they could invent : 
His skin more hard than brass was found, 


Against the Sarazens so rude 


1 


That sword nor spear could pierce nor wound. 


Fought he full long and many a day ; 






Where many gyaunts he subdu'd, 




When this the people understood, 31 


In honour of the Christian way : 


10 


They cryed out most piteouslye, 


And after many adventures past 




The dragon's breath infects their blood, 


To Egypt land he came at last. 




That everye day in heaps they dye : 
Among them such a plague is bred, 35 


Now as the story plain doth tell, 




The living scarce could bury the dead. 


Within that country there did rest 






A dreadful dragon fierce and fell, 


15 


No means there were, as they could hear, 


Whereby they were full sore opprest: 




For to appease the dragon's rage, 


Who by his poisonous breath each day 




But to present some virgin clear, 


Did many of the city slay. 




Whose blood his fury might asswage ; 40 



ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON. 



395 



Each daye he would a maiden eat, 
For to allay his hunger great. 

This thing by art the -wise-men found, 
Which truly must observed be ; 

Wherefore throughout the city round 45 

A virgin pure of good degree 

Was by the king's commission still 

Taken up to serve the dragon's will. 

Thus did the dragon every day 

Untimely crop some virgin flowr, 50 

Till all the maids were worn away, 

And none were left him to devour : 
Saving the king's fair daughter bright, 
Her father's only heart's delight. 

Then came the ofScers to the king, 55 

That heavy message to declare, 
Which did his heart with sorrow sting ; 

She is, quoth he, my kingdom's heir : 
let us all be poisoned here, 
Ere she should die, that is my dear. 60 

Then rose the people presently, 
And to the king in rage they went ; 

They said his daughter dear should dye, 
The dragon's fury to prevent : 

Our daughters all are dead, quoth they, 65 

And have been made the dragon's prey : 

And by their blood we rescued were, 
And thou hast sav'd thy life thereby ; 

And now in sooth it is but fair, 

For us thy daughter so sould die. 70 

save my daughter said the king ; 

And let me feel the dragon's sting. 

Then fell fair Sabra on her knee, 

And to her father dear did say, 
father, strive not thus for me, 75 

But let me be the dragon's prey ; 
It may be for my sake alone 
This plague upon the land was thrown. 

'Tis better I should dye, she said, 

Than all your subjects perish quite ; 80 

Perhaps the dragon here was laid, 
For my offence to work his spite : 

And after he hath suckt my gore, 

Your land shall feel the grief no more. 

What hast thou done, my daughter dear, 85 
For to deserve this heavy scourge ? 



It is my fault, as may appear, 

Which makes the gods our state to purge ; 
Then ought I die, to stint the strife, 
And to preserve thy happy life. 90 

Like mad-men, all the people cried, 
Thy death to us can do no good ; 

Our safety only doth abide 

In making her the dragon's food. 

Lo ! here I am, I come, quoth she, 95 

Therefore do what you will with me. 

Nay stay, dear daughter, quoth the queen, 
And as thou art a virgin bright, 

That hast for vertue famous been, 

So let me cloath thee all in white ; 100 

And crown thy head with flowers sweet, 

An ornament for virgins meet. 

And when she was attired so, 
According to her mother's mind, 

Unto the stake then did she go ; 105 

To which her tender limbs they bind : 

And being bound to stake a thrall, 

She bade farewell unto them all. 

Farewell, my father dear, quoth she, 

And my sweet mother meek and mild ; 110 

Take you no thought nor weep for me, 
For you may have another child : 

Since for my country's good I dye, 

Death I receive most willinglye. 

The king and queen and all their train 115 
With weeping eyes went then their way, 

And let their daughter there remain, 
To be the hungry dragon's prey : 

But as she did there weeping lye, 

Behold St. George came riding by. 120 

And seeing there a lady bright 

So rudely tyed unto a stake, 
As well became a valiant knight, 

He straight to her his way did take : 
Tell me, sweet maiden, then quoth he, 125 
What caitif thus abuseth thee ? 

And, lo ! by Christ his cross I vow, 
Which here is figured on my breast, 

I will revenge it on his brow, 

And break my lance upon his chest : 130 

And speaking thus whereas he stood, 

The dragon issued from the wood. 



39G 



ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON. 



The lady that did first espy 

The dreadful dragon coming so, 

Unto St. George aloud did cry, 
And willed him away to go ; 

Here comes that cursed fiend quoth she, 

That soon will make an end of me. 

St. George then looking round about, 
The fiery dragon soon espy'd, 

And like a knight of courage stout, 
Against him did most fiercely ride ; 

And with such blows he did him greet, 

He fell beneath his horse's feet. 



135 



140 



145 



For with his launce that was so strong 

As he came gaping in his face, 
In at his mouth he thrust along ; 

For he could pierce no other place : 
And thus within the lady's view 
This mighty dragon straight he slew. 150 

The savour of his poisoned breath 
Could do this holy knight no harm. 

Thus he the lady sav'd from death, 
And home he led her by the arm ; 

Which when King Ptolemy did see, 155 

There was great mirth and melody. 

When as that valiant champion there 
Had slain the dragon in the field, 

To court he brought the lady fair, 
Which to their hearts much joy did yield. 

He in the court of Egypt staid 161 

Till he most falsely was betray'd. 

That lady dearly lov'd the knight, 
He counted her his only joy ; 165 

But when their love was brought to light, 
It turn'd unto their great annoy : 

Th' Morocco king was in the court, 

Who to the orchard did resort, 

Dayly to take the pleasant air, 170 

For pleasure sake he us'd to walk, 

Under a wall he oft did hear 

St. George with Lady Sabra talk : 

Their love he shew'd unto the king, 

Which to St. George great woe did bring. 

Those kings together did devise 176 

To make the Christian knight away, 

With letters him in curteous wise 
They straightway sent to Persia : 

But wrote to the sophy him to kill, 180 

And treacherously his blood to spill. 



Thus they for good did him reward 

With evil, and most subtilly 
By such vile meanes they had regard 

To work his death most cruelly; 185 

Who, as through Persia land he rode, 
With zeal destroy'd each idol god. 

For which offence he straight was thrown 
Into a dungeon dark and deep ; 

Where, when he thought his wrongs upon, 
He bitterly did wail and weep : 191 

Yet like a knight of courage stout, 

At length his way he digged out. 

Three grooms of the King of Persia 

By night this valiant champion slew, 195 

Though he had fasted many a day ; 
And then away from thence he flew 

On the best steed the sophy had ; 

Which when he knew he was full mad. 

Towards Christendom he made his flight, 200 

But met a gyant by the way, 
With whom in combat he did fight 

Most valiantly a summers day : 
Who yet, for all his bats of steel, 
Was forc'd the sting of death to feel. 205 

Back o'er the seas with many bands 
Of warlike souldiers soon he past, 

Vowing upon those heathen lands 
To work revenge ; which at the last, 

Ere thrice three years were gone and spent, 

He wrought unto his heart's content. 211 

Save onely Egypt land he spar'd 
For Sabra bright her only sake, 

And, ere for her he had regard, 

He meant a tryal kind to make : 215 

Mean while the king, o'ercome in field, 

Unto saint George did quickly yield. 

Then straight Morocco's king he slew, 
And took fair Sabra to his wife, 

But meant to try if she were true 220 

Ere with her he would lead his life ; 

And, tho' he had her in his train, 

She did a virgin pure remain. 

Toward England then that lovely dame 
The brave St. George conducted strait, 225 

An eunuch also with them came, 
Who did upon the lady wait ; 

These three from Egypt went alone. 

Now mark St. George's valour shown. 



LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY. 


397 


When as they in a forest were, 


230 


Their rage did him no whit dismay, 




The lady did desire to rest : 




Who, like a stout and valiant knight, 




Mean while St. George to kill a deer, 




Did both the hungry lyons slay 


250 


For their repast did think it best: 




Within the Lady Sabra' sight : 




Leaving her with the eunuch there, 




Who all this while sad and demure, 




Whilst he did go to kill the deer. 


235 


There stood most like a virgin pure. 




But lo ! all in his absence came 




Now when St. George did surely know 




Two hungry lyons fierce and fell, 




This lady was a virgin true, 


255 


And tore the eunuch on the same 




His heart was glad, that erst was woe, 




In pieces small, the truth to tell ; 




And all his love did soon renew : 




Down by the lady then they laid, 


240 


He set her on a palfrey steed, 




Whereby they shew'd, she was a maid. 




And towards England came with speed. 




But when he came from hunting back, 




Where being in short space arriv'd 


260 


And did behold this heavy chance, 




Unto his native dwelling place ; 




Then for his lovely virgin's sake 




Therein with his dear love he liv'd, 




His courage strait he did advance, 


245 


And fortune did his nuptials grace : 




And came into the lions sight, 




They many years of joy did see, 




Who ran at him with all their might. 




And led their lives at Coventry. 


265 




III. 




gtota toill M i 


rat % Mag. 




This excellent song is ancient: but we 


But if she, whom love doth honour, 




could only give it from a modern copy. 




Be conceal'd from the day, 
Set a thousand guards upon her, 




Over the mountains, 




Love will find out the way. 




And over the waves ; 








Under the fountains, 








And under the graves ; 
Under floods that are deepest, 


5 


Some think to lose him, 
By having him confin'd ; 


25 


Which Neptune obey ; 
Over rocks that are steepest, 
Love will find out the way. 




And some do suppose him, 
Poor thing, to be blind ; 
But if ne'er so close ye wall him, 








Do the best that you may, 


30 


Where there is no place 




Blind love, if so ye call him, 




For the glow-worm to lye ; 


10 


Will find out his way. 




Where there is no space 








For receipt of a fly ; 








Where the midge dares not venture 


i 


You may train the eagle 




Lest herself fast she lay ; 




To stoop to your fist ; 


35 


If love come he will enter, 


15 


Or you may inveigle 




And soon find out his way. 




The phenix of the east ; 
The lioness, ye may move her 




You may esteem him 




To give o'er her prey : 




A child for his might ; 




But you'll ne'er stop a lover, 




Or you may deem him 




He will find out his way. 


40 


A coward from his flight: 


20 


* 


** 



398 



LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET. 



IV. 



$0t& f Jptas auto fair gnnct, 



A SCOTTISH BALLAD, 



— Seems to be composed (not without im- 
provements) out of two ancient English ones, 
printed in the former part of this volume. 
See book I. ballad XV., and book II. ballad 
IV. — If this had been the original, the au- 
thors of those two ballads would hardly have 
adopted two such different stories : besides 
this contains enlargements not to be found in 
either of the others. It is given, with some 
corrections, from a MS. copy transmitted 
from Scotland. 

Lord Thomas and fair Annet 

Sate a' day on a hill ; 
Whan night was cum, and sun was sett, 

They had not talkt their fill. 

Lord Thomas said a word in jest, 5 

Fair Annet took it ill : 
A'! I will nevir wed a wife 

Against my ain friends will. 

Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife, 

A wife wull neir wed yee. 10 

Sae he is hame to tell his mither, 

And knelt upon his knee : 

rede, rede, mither, he says, 
A gude rede gie to mee : 

sail I tak the nut-browne bride, 15 
And let faire Annet bee ? 

The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear, 

Fair Annet she has gat nane ; 
And the little beauty fair Annet has, 

it wull soon be gane ! 20 

And he has till his brother gane : 

Now, brother, rede ye mee ; 
A' sail I marrie the nut-browne bride, 

And let fair Annet bee ? 

The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother, 25 
The nut-browne bride has kye ; 

1 wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride, 
And cast fair Annet bye. 



Her oxen may dye i' the house, Billle, 30 

And her kye into the byre ; 
And I sail hae nothing to my sell, 

Bot a fat fadge by the fyre. 

And he has till his sister gane : 

Now, sister, rede ye mee ; 
sail I marrie the nut-browne bride, 35 

And set fair Annet free ? 

Ise rede ye tak fair Annet, Thomas, 
And let the brovvne bride alane; 

Lest ye sould sigh and say, Alace I 

What is this we brought hame ? 40 

No, I will tak my mithers counsel, 

And marrie me owt o' hand ; 
And I will tak the nut-browne bride ; 

Fair Annet may leive the land. 

Up then rose fair Annets father 45 

Twa hours or it wer day, 
And he is gane into the bower, 

Wherein fair Annet lay. 

Rise up, rise up, fair Annet, he says, 

Put on your silken sheene ; 50 

Let us gae to St. Maries kirke, 
And see that rich weddeen. 



My maides, gae to my dressing-roome, 

And dress to me my hair ; 
Whair-eir yee laid a plait before, 55 

See yee lay ten times mair. 

My maids, gae to my dressing-room, 

And dress to me my smock ; 
The one half is o' the holland fine, 

The other o' needle-work. 60 

The horse fair Annet rade upon 

He amblit like the wind, 
Wi' siller he was shod before, 

W' burning gowd behind. 



UNFADING BEAUTY. 



399 



Four and twantye siller bells 65 

"Wer a' tyed till his mane, 
And yae tift o' the norland wind, 

They tinkled ane by ane. 

Four and twantye gay gude knichta 

Rade by fair Annets side, 70 

And four and twanty fair ladies, 
As gin she had bin a bride. 

And whan she cam to Maries kirk, 

She sat on Maries stean : 
The cleading that fair Annet had on 75 

It skinkled in their een. 

And whan she cam into the kirk, 

She shimmer'd like the sun ; 
The belt that was about her waist, 

Was a* wi' pearles bedone. 80 

She sat her by the nut-browne bride, 
And her een they wer sae clear, 

Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride, 
Whan fair Annet she drew near. 

He had a rose into his hand, 85 

And he gave it kisses three, 
And reaching by the nut-browne bride, 

Laid it on fair Annets knee. 

Up than spak the nut-browne bride, 

She spak wi' meikle spite ; 90 

And whair gat ye that rose-water, 
That does mak yee sae white ? 



I did get the rose-water 
Whair ye wull neir get nane, 

For I did get that very rose-water 
Into my mithers wame. 



95 



The bride she drew a long bodkin, 

Frae out her gay head-gear, 
And strake fair Annet unto the heart, 

That word she nevir spak mair. 100 

Lord Thomas he saw fair Annet wex pale, 

And marvelit what mote bee : 
But whan he saw her dear hearts blude, 

A' wood-wroth wexed hee. 

He drew his dagger, that was sae sharp, 105 

That was sae sharp and meet, 
And drave into the nut-browne bride, 

That fell deid at his feit. 

Now stay for me, dear Annet, he sed, 

Now stay, my dear, he cry'd ; 110 

Then strake the dagger untill his heart, 
And fell deid by her side. 

Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa, 

Fair Annet within the quiere ; 
And o' the tane thair grew a birk, 115 

The other a bonny briere. 

And ay they grew, and ay they threw, 

As they wad faine be neare ; 
And by this ye may ken right weil, 

They were twa luvers deare, 120 



IitfaMttfl §nttig. 



This little beautiful sonnet is reprinted 
from a small volume of " Poems by Thomas 
Carew, Esq., one of the gentlemen of the pri- 
vie-chamber, and sewer in ordinary to his 
majesty (Charles I.) Lond. 1640." This ele- 
gant and almost forgotten writer, whose 
poems have been deservedly revived, died in 
the prime of his age, in 1639. 

In the original follows a third stanza ; 
which, not being of general application, nor 
of equal merit, I have ventured to omit. 
51 



Hee, that loves a rosie cheeke, 

Or a corall lip admires, 
Or from star-like eyes doth seeke 

Fuell to maintaine his fires, 
As old time makes these decay, 5 

So his flames must waste away. 

But a smooth and stedfast mind, 
Gentle thoughts, and calme desires, 

Hearts with equal love combin'd, 

Kindle never-dyin^ fires: 10 

Where these are not, I despise 

Lovely cheekes, or lips, or eyes. 



400 



GEORGE BARNWELL. 



VI. 



imp §arnto*II. 



The subject of this ballad is sufficiently 
popular from the modern play which is 
founded upon it. This was written by George 
Lillo, a jeweller of London, and first acted 
about 1730.— As for the ballad, it was printed 
at least as early as the middle of the last cen- 
tury. 

It is here given from three old printed co- 
pies, which exhibit a strange intermixture of 
Rom an and black-letter. It is also collated with 
another copy in the Ashmole Collection at 
Oxford, which is thus entitled, " An excel- 
lent ballad of George Barnwell, an apprentice 
of London, who . . . thrice robbed his master 
and murdered his uncle in Ludlow." The 
tune is " The Merchant." 

This tragical narrative seems to relate a 
real fact ; but when it happened I have not 
been able to discover. 



THE FIRST PART. 

All youth of fair England 

That dwell both far and near, 
Regard my story that I tell, 

And to my song give ear. 

A London lad I was, 5 

A merchant's prentice bound ; 

My name George Barnwell ; that did spend 
My master many a pound. 

Take heed of harlots then, 

And their enticing trains ; 10 

For by that means I have been brought 

To hang alive in chains. 

As I upon a day, 

Was walking through the street 
About my master's business, 15 

A wanton I did meet. 

A gallant dainty dame 

And sumptuous in attire ; 
With smiling look she greeted me, 

And did my name require. 20 



Which when I had declar'd, 

She gave me then a kiss, 
And said, if I would come to her 

I should have more than this. 

Fair mistress, then quoth I, 25 

If I the place may know, 
This evening I will be with you, 

For I abroad must go, 

To gather monies in, 

That are my master's due : 30 

And ere that I do home return 

I'll come and visit you. 

Good Barnwell, then quoth she, 

Do thou to Shoreditch come, 
And ask for Mrs. Millwood's house, 35 

Next door unto the Gun. 

And trust me on my truth, 

If thou keep touch with me, 
My dearest friend, as my own heart 

Thou shalt right welcome be. 40 

Thus parted we in peace, 

And home I passed right ; 
Then went abroad, and gathered in, 

By six o'clock at night, 

An hundred pound and one : 45 

With bag under my arm 
I went to Mrs. Millwood's house, 

And thought on little harm ; 

And knocking at the door, 

Straightway herself came down ; 50 
Rustling in most brave attire, 

With hood and silken gown. 

Who, through her beauty bright, 

So gloriously did shine, 
That she amaz'd my dazzling eyes, 55 

She seemed so divine. 



GEORGE BARNWELL. 



401 



She took me by the hand, 

And with a modest grace, 
Welcome, sweet Barnwell, then quoth she, 

Unto this homely place. 60 

And since I have thee found 

As good as thy word to be : 
A homely supper, ere we part, 

Thou shalt take here with me. 

pardon me, quoth I, 65 
Fair mistress, I you pray ; 

For why, out of my master's house, 
So long I dare not stay. 

Alas, good sir, she said, 

Are you so strictly ty'd, 70 

You may not with your dearest friend 

One hour or two abide ? 

Faith, then the case is hard; 
If it be so, quoth she, 

1 would I were a prentice bound, 75 
To live along with thee : 

Therefore, my dearest George, 

List well what I shall say, 
And do not blame a woman much, 

Her fancy to bewray. 80 

Let not affection's force 

Be counted lewd desire ; 
Nor think it not immodesty, 

I should thy love require. 

With that she turn'd aside, 85 

And with a blushing red, 
A mournful motion she bewray'd 

By hanging down her head. 

A handkerchief she had 

All wrought with silk and gold : 90 

Which she to stay her trickling tears 

Before her eyes did hold. 

This thing unto my sight 
Was wondrous rare and strange ; 

And in my soul and inward thought 95 
It wrought a sudden change : 

That I so hardy grew, 

To take her by the hand : 
Saying, Sweet mistress, why do you 

So dull and pensive stand ? 100 



Call me no mistress now, 

But Sarah, thy true friend, 
Thy servant, Millwood, honouring thee, 

Until her life hath end. 

If thou wouldst here alledge, 105 

Thou art in years a boy ; 
So was Adonis, yet was he 

Fair Venus' only joy. 

Thus I, who ne'er before 

Of woman found such grace, 110 

But seeing now so fair a dame 

Give me a kind embrace 

I supt with her that night, 

With joys that did abound ; 
And for the same paid presently, 115 

In money twice three pound. 

An hundred kisses then, 

For my farewel she gave ; 
Crying, Sweet Barnwell, when shall I 

Again thy company have ? 120 

O stay not hence too long, 

Sweet George, have me in mind. 

Her words bewicht my childishness, 
She uttered them so kind : 



125 



So that I made a vow, 
Next Sunday without fail, 

With my sweet Sarah once again 
To tell some pleasant tale. 



When she heard me say so, 

The tears fell from her eye ; 130 

O George, quoth she, if thou dost fail, 

Thy Sarah sure will dye. 



Though long, yet loe ! at last, 
The appointed day was come, 

That I must with my Sarah meet ; 
Having a mighty sum 



135 



Of money in my hand,* 
Unto her house went I, 

Whereas my love upon her bed 
In saddest sort did lye. 



140 



* The having a sum of money with him on Sunday, &c, 
shows this narrative to have been penned before the civil 
wars : the strict observance of the Sabbath was owing to 
change of manners at that period. 



402 



GEORGE BARNWELL. 



What ails my heart's delight, 

My Sarah dear ? quoth I ; 
Let not my love lament and grieve, 

Nor sighing pine, and die. 

But tell me, dearest friend, 145 

What may thy woes amend, 
And thou shalt lack no means of help, 

Though forty pound I spend. 

With that she turn'd her head, 

And sickly thus did say, 150 

Oh me, sweet George, my grief is great, 

Ten pound I have to pay 

Unto a cruel wretch ; 

And God he knows, quoth she, 
I have it not. Tush, rise I said, 155 

And take it here of me. 

Ten pounds, nor ten times ten, 

Shall make my love decay, 
Then from my bag into her lap, 

I cast ten pound straightway. 160 

All blithe and pleasant then, 

To banqueting we go ; 
She proffered me to lye with her, 

And said it should be so. 

And after that same time, 165 

I gave her store of coyn, 
Yea, sometimes fifty pound at once ; 

All which I did purloyn. 

And thus I did pass on ; 

Until my master then 170 

Did call to have his reckoning in 

Cast up among his men. 

The which when as I heard, 

I knew not what to say : 
For well I knew that I was out 175 

Two hundred pound that day. 

Then from my master straight 

I ran in secret sort ; 
And unto Sarah Millwood there 

My case I did report. 180 

" But how she us'd this youth, 

In this his care and woe, 
And all a strumpet's wiley ways, 

The second part may showe." 



THE SECOND PART. 

Young Barnwell comes to thee, 

Sweet Sarah, my delight ; 
I am undone unless thou stand 

My faithful friend this night. 

Our master to accompts 5 

Hath just occasion found ; 
And I am caught behind the hand 

Above two hundred pound : 

And now his wrath to 'scape, 

My love, I fly to thee, 10 

Hoping some time I may remaine, 

In safety here with thee. 

With that she knit her brows, 

And looking all aquoy, 
Quoth she, What should I have to do 15 

With any prentice boy ? 

And seeing you have purloyn'd 

Your master's goods away, 
The case is bad, and therefore here 

You shall no longer stay. 20 

Why, dear, thou know'st, I said, 

How all which I could get, 
I gave it, and did spend it all 

Upon thee every whit. 

Quoth she, Thou art a knave, 25 

To charge me in this sort, 
Being a woman of credit fair, 

And known of good report. 

Therefore I tell thee flat, 

Be packing with good speed ; 30 

I do defie thee from my heart, 

And scorn thy filthy deed. 

Is this the friendship, that 

You did to me protest? 
Is this the great affection, which 35 

You so to me exprest? 

Now fie on subtle shrews ! 

The best is, I may speed 
To get a lodging any where 

For money in my need. 40 

False woman, now farewell, 
Whilst twenty pound doth last, 

My anchor in some other haven 
With freedom I will cast. 



GEORGE BARNWELL. 



403 



When she perceiv'd by this, 45 

I had store of money there, 
Stay, George, quoth she, thou art too quick: 

Why, man, I did hut jeer. 



Dost think for all my speech, 
That I would let thee go ? 

Faith, no, said she, my love to thee 
I wiss is more than so. 



50 



You scorne a prentice hoy 

I heard you just now swear, 
Wherefore I will not trouble you. 55 

Nay, George, hark in thine ear; 

Thou shalt not go to-night, 

What chance soe're befall : 
But man we'll have a bed for thee, 

Or else the devil take all. 60 

So I by wiles bewitcht 

And snar'd with fancy still, 
Had then no power to ' get' away, 

Or to withstand her will. 

For wine on wine I call'd, 65 

And cheer upon good cheer ; 
And nothing in the world I thought 

For Sarah's love too dear. 

Whilst in her company, 

I had such merriment ; 70 

All, all too little I did think, 

That I upon her spent. 

A fig for care and thought ! 

When all my gold is gone, 
In faith, my girl, we will have more, 75 

Whoever I light upon. 

My father's rich, why then 

Should I want store of gold ? 
Nay with a father sure, quoth she, 

A son may well make bold. 80 

Fve a sister richly wed, 

I'll rob her ere I'll want. 
Nay then, quoth Sarah, they may well 

Consider of you scant. 

Nay, I an uncle have : 85 

At Ludlow he doth dwell : 
He is a grazier, which in wealth 

Doth all the rest excell. 



Ere I will live in lack, 

And have no coyn for thee ; 90 

I'll rob his house, and murder him. 

Why should you not ? quoth she : 

Was I a man, ere I 

Would live in poor estate : 
On father, friends, and all my kin, 

I would my talons grate. 95 

For without money, George, 

A man is but a beast : 
But bringing money, thou shalt be 

Always my welcome guest. 100 

For shouldst thou be pursued 

With twenty hues and cryes, 
And with a warrant searched for 

With Argus' hundred eyes, 

Yet here thou shalt be safe ; 105 

Such privy wayes there be, 
That if they sought an hundred years, 

They could not find out thee. 

And so carousing both 

Their pleasures to content : 110 

George Barnwell had in little space 

His money wholly spent. 

Which done, to Ludlow straight 

He did provide to go, 
To rob his wealthy uncle there ; 115 

His minion would it so. 

And once he thought to take 

His father by the way, 
But that he fear'd his master had 

Took order for his stay.* 120 

Unto his uncle then 

He rode with might and main, 
Who with a welcome and good cheer 

Did Barnwell entertain. 

One fortnight's space he stayed 125 

Until it chanced so, 
His uncle with his cattle did 

Unto a market go. 

His kinsman rode with him, 

Where he did see right plain, 130 

Great store of money he had took : 

When coming home again, 

* i. e. for stopping and apprehending him at his father's. 



404 



THE STEDFAST SHEPHERD. 



Sudden within a wood, 

He struck his uncle down, 
And beat his brains out of his head ; 135 

So sore he crackt his crown. 

Then seizing fourscore pound, 

To London straight he hyed, 
And unto Sarah Millwood all 

The cruell fact descryed. 140 

Tush, 'tis no matter, George, 

So we the money have 
To have good cheer in jolly sort, 

And deck us fine and brave. 

Thus lived in filthy sort, 145 

Until their store was gone : 
When means to get them any more, 

I wis, poor George had none. 

Therefore in railing sort, 

She thrust him out of door : 150 

"Which is the just reward of those, 

Who spend upon a whore. 

! do me not disgrace 

In this my need, quoth he. 
She called him thief and murderer, 155 

With all the spight might be : 



To the constable she sent, 

To have him apprehended ; 
And shewed how far, in each degree, 

He had the laws offended. 160 

When Barnwell saw her drift, 

To sea he got straightway ; 
Where fear and sting of conscience 

Continually on him lay. 



165 



Unto the lord mayor then, 

He did a letter write ; 
In which his own and Sarah's fault 

He did at large recite. 



Whereby she seized was 

And then to Ludlow sent : 170 

Where she was judg'd, condemn'd, and 
hang'd, 

For murder incontinent. 



There dyed this gallant quean, 
Such was her greatest gains : 

For murder in Polonia, 

Was Barnwell hang'd in chains. 



175 



Lo ! here's the end of youth, 
That after harlots haunt ; 

Who in the spoil of other men, 
About the streets do flaunt. 



180 



VII. 



%\t SfeMast j^fctrtr. 



These beautiful stanzas were written by 
George Wither, of whom some account was 
given in the former part of this volume : see 
the song entitled " The Shepherd's Resolu- 
tion," Book II. Song XXI. In the first edi- 
tion of this work only a small fragment of 
this Sonnet was inserted. It was afterwards 
rendered more complete and entire by the 
addition of five stanzas more, extracted from 
Wither's pastoral poem, entitled, " The Mis- 
tress of Philarete," of which this song makes 
a part. It is now given still more correct 
and perfect by comparing it with another 
copy, printed by the author in his improved 
edition of " The Shepherd's Hunting," 1620, 
8vo. 



Hence away, thou Syren, leave me, 

Pish ! unclaspe these wanton armes ; 
Sugred words can ne'er deceive me, 

(Though thou prove a thousand charmes). 

Fie, fie, forbeare ; 5 

No common snare 
Can ever my affection chaine : 

Thy painted baits, 

And poore deceits, 
Are all bestowed on me in vaine. 10 



I'me no slave to such, as you be ; 

Neither shall that snowy brest 
Rowling eye, and lip of ruby 

Ever robb me of my rest : 



THE SPANISH VIRGIN, OR EFFECTS OF JEALOUSY. 



405 



Goe, goe, display 15 

Thy beauty's ray 
To some more-soone enamour'd swaine : 

Those common wiles 

Of sighs and smiles 
Are all bestow'd on me in vaine. 20 

I have elsewhere vowed a dutie ; 
Turne away thy tempting eye : 
Shew not me a painted beautie ; 
These impostures I dene : 

My spirit lothes 25 

"Where gawdy clothes 
And fained othes may love obtaine : 

I love her so, 

Whose looke sweares No ; 
That all your labours will be vaine. 30 

Can he prize the tainted posies, 

Which on every brest are worne ; 
That may plucke the virgin roses 
From their never-touched thorne ? 

I can goe rest 35 

On her sweet brest, 
That is the pride of Cynthia's traine : 

Then stay thy tongue ; 

Thy mermaid song 
Is all bestowed on me in vaine. 40 

Hee's a foole, that basely dallies, 
Where each peasant mates with him : 



Shall I haunt the thronged vallies, 
Whilst ther's noble hils to climbe ? 

No, no, though clownes 45 

Are scar'd with frownes, 
I know the best can but disdaine : 

And these He prove : 

So will thy love 
Be all bestowed on me in vaine. 50 

I doe scorn to vow a dutie, 

Where each lustfull lad may wooe : 
Give me her, whose sun-like beautie 
Buzzards dare not soare unto : 

Shee, shee it is 55 

Affoords that blisse 
For which I would refuse no paine : 

But such as you, 

Fond fooles, adieu ; 
You seeke to captive me in vaine. 60 

Leave me then, you Syrens, leave me ; 
Seeke no more to worke my harmes : 
Craftie wiles cannot deceive me, 
Who am proofe against your charmes : 

You labour may 65 

To lead astray 
The heart, that constant shall remaine : 

And I the while 

Will sit and smile 
To hear you spend your time in vaine. 70 



VIII. 



Wuj §pm$ §irp, «r (Metis af |eatag. 



The subject of this ballad is taken from a 
folio collection of tragical stories, entitled, 
"The theatre of God's judgments, by Dr. 
Beard and Dr. Taylor, 1642." Pt. 2, p. 89. 
— The text is given (with corrections) from 
two copies ; one of them in black-letter in the 
Pepys Collection. In this every stanza is ac- 
companied with the following distich by way 
of burden : 

" Oh jealousie ! thou art nurst in hell : 
Depart from hence, and therein dwell." 



All tender hearts, that ake to hear 
Of those that suffer wrong ; 

All you, that never shed a tear, 
Give heed unto my song. 

Fair Isabella's tragedy 
My tale doth far exceed : 

Alas, that so much cruelty 
In female hearts should breed ! 

In Spain a lady liv'd of late, 
Who was of high degree ; 

Whose wayward temper did create 
Much woe and misery. 



10 



Strange jealousies so filled her head 

With many a vain surmize, 
She thought her lord had wrong'd her bed, 

And did her love despise. 10 

A gentlewoman passing fair 

Did on this lady wait; 
With bravest dames she might compare ; 

Her beauty was compleat. 20 

Her lady cast a jealous eye 

Upon this gentle maid ; 
And taxt her with disloyaltye : 

And did her oft upbraid. 

In silence still this maiden meek 25 

Her bitter taunts would bear, 
While oft adown her lovely cheek 

Would steal the falling tear. 

In vain in humble sort she strove 

Her fury to disarm ; 30 

As well the meekness of the dove 
The bloody hawke might charm. 

Her lord, of humour light and gay, 

And innocent the while, 
As oft as she came in his way, 35 

Would on the damsell smile. 

And oft before his lady's face, 

As thinking her her friend, 
He would the maiden's modest grace 

And comeliness commend. 40 

All which incens'd his lady so, 
She burnt with wrath extreame ; 

At length the fire that long did glow, 
Burst forth into a flame. 

For on a day it so befell, 45 

When he was gone from home, 

The lady all with rage did swell, 
And to the damsell come. 

And charging her with great offence 
And many a grievous fault ; 50 

She bade her servants drag her thence, 
Into a dismal vault, 

That lay beneath the common-shore : 

A dungeon dark and deep : 
Where they were wont, in days of yore, 55 

Offenders great to keep. 



There never light of chearful day 

Dispers'd the hideous gloom ; 
But dank and noisome vapours play 

Around the wretched room : 60 

And adders, snakes, and toads therein, 

As afterwards was known, 
Long in this loathsome vault had bin, 

And were to monsters grown. 

Into this foul and fearful place, 65 

The fair one innocent 
Was cast, before her lady's face ; 

Her malice to content. 

This maid no sooner enter'd ia, 

But strait, alas ! she hears 70 

The toads to croak, and snakes to hiss : 

Then grievously she fears. 

Soon from their holes the vipers creep, 

And fiercely her assail : 
Which makes the damsel sorely weep, 75 

And her sad fate bewail. 

With her fair hands she strives in vain 

Her body to defend : 
With shrieks and cries she doth complain, 

But all is to no end. 80 

A servant listning near the door, 
Struck with her doleful noise, 

Strait ran his lady to implore ; 
But she'll not hear his voice. 

With bleeding heart he goes agen 85 

To mark the maiden's groans ; 

And plainly hears, within the den, 
How she herself bemoans. 

Again he to his lady hies 

With all the haste he may : 90 

She into furious passion flies, 

And orders him away. 

Still back again does he return 

To hear her tender cries ; 
The virgin now had ceas'd to mourn ; 95 

Which fill'd him with surprize. 

In grief, and horror, and affright, 

He listens at the walls ; 
But finding all was silent quite, 

He to his lady calls. 100 



JEALOUSY, TYRANT OF THE MIND. 407 


Too sure, lady, now quoth he, 


The other close her neck embrac'd, 115 


Your cruelty hath sped ; 


And stopt her gentle breath. 


Make hast, for shame, and come and see ; 




I fear the virgin's dead. 


The snakes, being from her body thrust, 




Their bellies were so fill'd, 


She starts to hear her sudden fate, 105 


That with excess of blood they burst, 


And does with torches run : 


Thus with their prey were kill'd. 120 


But all her haste was now too late, 




For death his worst had done. 


The wicked lady, at this sight, 




With horror strait ran mad ; 


The door being open'd, strait they found 


So raving dy'd, as was most right, 


The virgin stretch'd along : 110 


'Cause she no pity had. 


Two dreadful snakes had wrapt her round, 




Which her to death had stung. 


Let me advise you, ladies all, 125 




Of jealousy beware : 


One round her legs, her thighs, her wast, 


It causeth many a one to fall, 


Had twin'd his fatal wreath : 


And is the devil's snare. 

*** 


IX. 


$*atag, f grar 


rt 0f % JKhtfr. 


This song is by Dryden, being inserted in 


In absence, or unkind disdaine, 


his Tragi-Comedy of " Love Triumphant," 


Sweet hope relieves the lovers paine : 


&c. — On account of the subject, it is inserted 


But, oh, no cure but death we find 


here. 


To sett us free 




From jealousie, 15 


What state of life can be so blest, 


Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind. 


As love that warms the gentle brest ; 




Two souls in one ; the same desire 


False in thy glass all objects are, 


grant the bliss, and to require ? 


Some sett too near, and some too far : 


If in this heaven a hell we find, 5 


Thou art the fire of endless night, 


Tis all from thee, 


The fire that burns, and gives no light. 20 


Jealousie ! 


All torments of the damn'd we find 


Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind. 


In only thee, 




O Jealousie ! 


All other ills, though sharp they prove, 


Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind. 


Serve to refine and perfect love : 10 




52 


■ 



408 



CONSTANT PENELOPE. 



X. 



tostant f nubp. 



The ladies are indebted for the following 
notable documents to the Pepys Collection, 
where the original is preserved in black-letter, 
and is entitled "A Looking-glass for Ladies, 
or a Mirrour for Married Women. Tune, 
Queen Dido, or Troy town." 

When Greeks and Trojans fell at strife, 
And lords in armour bright were seen ; 

When many a gallant lost his life 
About fair Hellen, beauty's queen ; 

Ulysses, general so free, 5 

Did leave his dear Penelope. 

When she this wofull news did hear, 
That he would to the warrs of Troy ; 

For grief she shed full many a tear, 

At parting from her only joy : 10 

Her ladies all about her came, 

To comfort up this Grecian dame. 

Ulysses, with a heavy heart, 
Unto her then did mildly say, 

The time is come that we must part ; 15 
My honour calls me hence away ; 

Yet in my absence, dearest, be 

My constant wife, Penelope. 

Let me no longer live, she sayd, 

Then to my lord I true remain ; 20 

My honour shall not be betray'd 
Until I see my love again ; 

For I will ever constant prove, 

As is the loyal turtle-dove. 

Thus did they part with heavy chear, 25 
And to the ships his way he took ; 

Her tender eyes dropt many a tear ; 
Still casting many a longing look : 

She saw him on the surges glide, 

And unto Neptune thus she cry'd : 30 

Thou god, whose power is in the deep, 
And rulest in the ocean main, 

My loving lord in safety keep 
Till he return to me again: 

That I his person may behold, 35 

To me more precious far than gold. 



Then straight the ships with nimble sails 
Were all convey'd out of her sight : 

Her cruel fate she then bewails, 

Since she had lost her hearts delight. 40 

Now shall my practice be, quoth she, 

True vertue and humility. 

My patience I will put in ure, 

My charity I will extend ; 
Since for my woe there is no cure, 45 

The helpless now I will befriend : 
The widow and the fatherless 
I will relieve, when in distress. 

Thus she continued year by year 

In doing good to every one ; 50 

Her fame was noised every where, 

To young and old the same was known, 

That she no company would mind, 

Who were to vanity inclin'd. 



Mean while Ulysses fought for fame, 
'Mongst Trojans hazarding his life: 

Young gallants, hearing of her name, 
Come flocking for to tempt his wife : 

For she was lovely, young, and fair, 

No lady might with her compare. 



55 



60 



With costly gifts and jewels fine, 
They did endeavour her to win ; 

With banquets and the choicest wine, 
For to allure her unto sin : 

Most persons were of high degree, 65 

Who courted fair Penelope. 

With modesty and comely grace 
Their wanton suits she did denye : 

No tempting charms could e'er deface 
Her dearest husband's memorye : 70 

But constant she would still remain, 

Hopeing to see him once again. 

Her book her dayly comfort was, 
And that she often did peruse ; 

She seldom looked in her glass ; 75 

Powder and paint she ne'er would use. 

I wish all ladies were as free 

From pride, as was Penelope. 



VALENTINE AND URSINE. 409 




She in her needle took delight, 


To see the towers to ashes turn'd : 


And likewise in her spinning-wheel ; 80 


Then came Ulysses home to see 95 




Her maids about her every night 


His constant, dear, Penelope. 




Did use the distaff and the reel : 






The spiders, that on rafters twine, 


blame her not if she was glad, 




Scarce spin a thread more soft and fine. 


"When she her lord again had seen. 
Thrice-welcome home, my dear, she said, 




Sometimes she would bewail the loss 85 


A long time absent thou hast been : 100 




And absence of her dearest love : 


The wars shall never more deprive 




Sometimes she thought the seas to cross, 


Me of my lord whilst I'm alive. 




Her fortune on the waves to prove. 






I fear my lord is slain, quoth she, 


Fair ladies all, example take ; 




He stays so from Penelope. 90 


And hence a worthy lesson learn, 
All youthful follies to forsake, 105 




At length the ten years siege of Troy 


And vice from virtue to discern : 




Did end ; in flames the city burned ; 


And let all women strive to be 




And to the Grecians was great joy, 


As constant as Penelope. 




X 


I. 




% a Srata, fm §ah% in % Mm. 




By Col. Richard Lovelace: from the vol- 


True, a new mistresse now I chase, 5 




ume of his poems, entitled " Lucasta, Lond., 


The first foe in the field ; 




1649," 12mo. The elegance of this writer's 


And with a stronger faith imbrace 




manner would be more admired if it had 


A sword, a horse, a shield. 




somewhat more of simplicity. 


Yet this inconstancy is such, 




Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde, 


As you too shall adore ; 10 




That from the nunnerie 


I could not love thee, deare, so much, 




Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde 


Lov'd I not honour more. 




To warre and armes I flie. 






XI 


[I. 




iahntiiu a 


nfc loitu. 




The old story-book of Valentine and Orson 


" Over the dyke a bridge there lay, 




(which suggested the plan of this tale, but is 


That man and beest might passe away: 




not strictly followed in it) was originally a 


Under the bridge where sixty belles ; 




translation from the French, being one of 


Right as the Romans telles ; 




their earliest attempts at romance. See " Le 


That there might no man passe in, 




Bibliotheque de Romans, &c." 


But all they rang with a gyn." 




The circumstance of the bridge of bells is 


Sign. E. iv. 




taken from the old metrical legend of Sir 






Bevis, and has also been copied in the Seven 


In the Editor's folio MS., was an old poem 




Champions. The original are, 


on this subject, in a wretched corrupt state, 





410 



VALENTINE AND URSINE. 



unworthy the press : from which were taken 
euch particulars as could be adopted. 

PART THE FIRST. 

When Flora 'gins to decke the fields 

With colours fresh and fine, 
Then holy clerkes their mattins sing 

To good Saint Valentine 1 

The King of France that morning fair 5 

He would a hunting ride : 
To Artois forest prancing forth 

In all his princelye pride. 

To grace his sports a courtly train 

Of gallant peers attend ; 10 

And with their loud and cheerful cryes 
The hills and valleys rend. 

Through the deep forest swift they pass, 
Through woods and thickets wild ; 

When down within a lonely dell 15 

They found a new-born child ; 

All in a scarlet kercher lay'd 

Of silk so fine and thin : 
A golden mantle wrapt him round, 

Pinn'd with a silver pin. 20 

The sudden sight surpriz'd them all ; 

The courtiers gather'd round ; 
They look, they call, the mother seek ; 

No mother could be found. 

At length the king himself drew near, 25 

And as he gazing stands, 
The pretty babe look'd up and smil'd, 

And stretch'd his little hands. 

Now, by the rood, King Pepin says, 

This child is passing fair : 30 

I wot he is of gentle blood ; 
Perhaps some prince's heir. 



Goe bear him home unto my court 
With all the care ye may : 

Let him be christen'd Valentine, 
In honour of this day : 



35 



And look me out some cunning nurse ; 

Well nurtur'd let him bee ; 
Nor ought be wanting that becomes 

A bairn of high degree. 40 



They look'd him out a cunning nurse ; 

And nurtur'd well was he ; 
Nor ought was wanting that became 

A bairn of high degree. 

Thus grewe the little Valentine, 
Belov'd of king and peers ; 

And shew'd in all he spake or did 
A wit beyond his years. 

But chief in gallant feates of arms 

He did himself advance, 
That ere he grewe to man's estate 

He had no peere in France. 



45 



50 



And now the early downe began 

To shade his youthful chin ; 
When Valentine was dubb'd a knight, 55 

That he might glory win. 

A boon, a boon, my gracious liege, 

I beg a boon of thee ! 
The first adventure that befalls, 

May be reserv'd for mee. 60 

The first adventure shall be thine ; 

The king did smiling say. 
Nor many days, when lo ! there came 

Three palmers clad in graye. 

Help, gracious lord, they weeping say'd ; 

And knelt, as it was meet : 66 

From Artoys forest we be come, 

With weak and wearye feet. 

Within those deep and drearye woods 
There wends a savage boy ; 70 

Whose fierce and mortal rage doth yield 
Thy subjects dire annoy. 

'Mong ruthless beares he sure was bred ; 

He lurks within their den : 
With beares he lives ; with beares he feeds, 

And drinks the blood of men. 76 

To more than savage strength he joins 

A more than human skill : 
For arms, ne cunning may suffice 

His cruel rage to still : 80 

Up then rose Sir Valentine, 

And claim'd that arduous deed, 

Go forth and conquer, say'd the king, 
And great shall be thy meed. 



VALENTINE AND URSINE. 



411 



"Well mounted on a milk-white steed, 85 

His armour white as snow ; 
As well beseem' d a virgin knight, 

Who ne'er had fought a foe : 

To Artoys forest he repairs 

With all the haste he may ; 90 

And soon he spies the savage youth 

A rending of his prey. 

His unkempt hair all matted hung 

His shaggy shoulders round : 
His eager eye all fiery glow'd : 95 

His face with fury frown'd. 

Like eagles' talons grew his nails : 
His limbs were thick and strong ; 

And dreadful was the knotted oak 
He bare with him along. 100 

Soon as Sir Valentine approach'd, 
He starts with sudden spring ; 

And yelling forth a hideous howl, 
He made the forests ring. 

As when a tyger fierce and fell 105 

Hath spyed a passing roe, 
And leaps at once upon his throat ; 

So sprung the savage foe ; 

So lightly leap'd with furious force 
The gentle knight to seize : 110 

But met his tall uplifted spear, 
Which sunk him on his knees. 

A second stroke so stiff and stern 

Had laid the savage low ; 
But springing up, he rais'd his club, 115 

And aim'd a dreadful blow. 

The watchful warrior bent his head, 
And shun'd the coming stroke ; 

Upon his taper spear it fell, 
And all to shivers broke. 120 

Then lighting nimbly from his steed, 

He drew his burnisht brand : 
The savage quick as lightning flew 
To wrest it from his hand. 

Three times he grasp'd the silver hilt ; 125 

Three times he felt the blade ; 
Three times it fell with furious force ; 

Three ghastly wounds it made. 



Now with redoubled rage he roar'd ; 

His eye-ball flash'd with fire ; 
Each hairy limb with fury shook ; 

And all his heart was ire. 



130 



Then closing fast with furious gripe 
He clasp'd the champion round, 

And with a strong and sudden twist 135 
He laid him on the ground. 

But soon the knight with active spring, 

O'erturn'd his hairy foe : 
And now between their sturdy fists 

Past many a bruising blow. 140 

They roll'd and grappled on the ground, 
And there they struggled long : 

Skilful and active was the knight ; 
The savage he was strong. 

But brutal force and savage strength 145 

To art and skill must yield : 
Sir Valentine at length prevail'd 

And won the well-fought field. 

Then binding strait his conquered foe 
Fast with an iron chain, 150 

He tyes him to his horse's tail, 
And leads him o'er the plain. 

To court his hairy captive soon 

Sir Valentine doth bring ; 
And kneeling down upon his knee, 155 

Presents him to the king. 

With loss of blood and loss of strength 

The savage tamer grew ; 
And to Sir Valentine became 

A servant try'd and true. 160 

And 'cause with beares he erst was bred, 

Ursine they call his name ; 
A name which unto future times 

The Muses shall proclame. 

PART THE SECOND. 

In high renown with prince and peere 

Now liv'd Sir Valentine : 
His high renown with prince and peere 

Made envious hearts repine. 

It chanc'd the king upon a day 5 

Prepar'd a sumptuous feast : 
And there came lords, and dainty dames, 

And many a noble guest. 



412 VALENTINE AND URSINE. 


Amid their cups, that freely flowed, 


Mad and outrageous with the pain, 


Their revelry and mirth, 10 


He whirl'd his mace of steel: 


A youthful knight tax'd Valentine 


The very wind of such a blow 55 


Of hase and doubtful birth. 


Had made the champion reel. 


The foul reproach, so grossly urg'd, 


It haply mist; and now the knight 


His generous heart did wound : 


His glittering sword display'd, 


And strait he vow'd he ne'er would rest 15 


And riding round with whirlwind speed 


Till he his parents found. 


Oft made him feel the blade. 60 


Then bidding king and peers adieu, 


As when a large and monstrous oak 


Early one summer's day, 


Unceasing axes hew : 


"With faithful Ursine by his side, 


So fast around the gyant's limbs 


From court he took his way. 20 


The blows quick-darting flew. 


O'er hill and valley, moss and moor, 


As when the boughs with hideous fal 65 


For many a day they pass ; 


Some hapless woodman crush : 


At length, upon a moated lake, 


With such a force the enormous foe 


They found a bridge of brass. 


Did on the champion rush. 


Beyond it rose a castle fair, 25 
Y-built of marble stone : 


A fearful blow, alas ! there came, 

Both horse and knight it took, 70 
And laid them senseless in the dust ; 


The battlements were gilt with gold, 


And glittred in the sun. 


So fatal was the stroke. 


Beneath the bridge, with strange device, 




A hundred bells were hung ; 30 


Then smiling forth a hideous grin, 


That man, nor beast, might pass thereon, 


The gyant strides in haste, 


But strait their larum rung 


And, stooping, aims a second stroke : 75 




" Now caytiff breathe thy last I" 


This quickly found the youthful pair, 




"Who boldly crossing o'er, 


But ere it fell, two thundering blows 


The jangling sound bedeaft their ears, 35 


Upon his scull descend: 


And rung from shore to shore. 


From Ursine's knotty club they came, 




Who ran to save his friend. 80 


Quick at the sound the castle gates 




Unlock'd and opened wide, 


Down sunk the gyant gaping wide, 


And strait a gyant huge and grim 


And rolling his grim eyes : 


Stalk'd forth with stately pride. 40 


The hairy youth repeats his blows : 




He gasps, he groans, he dies. 


Now yield you, caytiffs, to my will ; 




He cried with hideous roar ; 


Quickly Sir Valentine reviv'd 85 
With Ursine's timely care : 


Or else the wolves shall eat your flesh, 


And ravens drink your gore. 


And now to search the castle walls 


Vain boaster, said the youthful knight, 45 


The venturous youths repair. 


I scorn thy threats and thee : 




I trust to force thy brazen gates, 


The blood and bones of murder'd knights 


And set thy captives free. 


They found where'er they came : 90 




At length within a lonely cell 


Then putting spurs unto his steed, 


They saw a mournful dame. 


He aim'd a dreadful thrust : 50 


Her gentle eyes were dim'd with tears ; 


The spear against the gyant glanc'd, 


Her cheeks were pale with woe : 


And caus'd the blood to burst. 


And long Sir Valentine besought 95 
Her doleful tale to know. 


Yer. 23, i e. a lake that served for a moat to a castle. 



VALENTINE AND URSINE. 



413 



" Alas ! young knight," she weeping said, 

Condole my wretched fate ; 
A childless mother here you see ; 

A wife without a mate. 100 

" These twenty winters here forlorn 

I've drawn my hated breath ; 
Sole witness of a monster's crimes, 

And wishing aye for death. 

" Know, I am sister of a king, 105 

And in my early years 
Was married to a mighty prince, 

The fairest of his peers. 

" "With him I sweetly liv'd in love 
A twelvemonth and a day : 110 

When, lo ! a foul and treacherous priest 
Y-wrought our loves' decay. 

" His seeming goodness wan him pow*r ; 

He had his master's ear : 
And long to me and all the world 115 

He did a saint appear. 

" One day, when we were all alone, 

He proffer'd odious love : 
The wretch with horrour I repuls'd, 

And from my presence drove. 120 

" He feign'd remorse, and pitious beg'd 

His crime I'd not reveal : 
Which, for his seeming penitence, 

I promis'd to conceal. 

" With treason, villainy, and wrong, 125 

My goodness he repay'd : 
With jealous doubts he fill'd my lord, 

And me to woe betray'd. 

" He hid a slave within my bed, 

Then rais'd a bitter cry. 130 

My lord, possest with rage, condemn'd 
Me, all unheard, to dye. 

" But, 'cause I then was great with child, 

At length my life he spar'd: 
But bade me instant quit the realme, 135 

One trusty knight my guard. 

" Forth on my journey I depart, 

Opprest with grief and woe ; 
And towards my brother's distant court, 

With breaking heart, I goe. 140 



" Long time thro' sundry foreign lands 

We slowly pace along : 
At length, within a forest wild, 

I fell in labour strong : 

"And while the knight for succour sought 
And left me there forlorn, 146 

My childbed pains so fast increast 
Two lovely boys were born. 

" The eldest fair, and smooth, as snow 
That tips the mountain hoar: 150 

The younger's little body rough 
With hairs was cover'd o'er. 



" But here afresh begin my woes: 
While tender care I took 

To shield my eldest from the cold 
And wrap him in my cloak ; 



155 



"A prowling bear burst from the wood, 

And seiz'd my younger son : 
Affection lent my weakness wings, 

And after them I run. 160 

" But all forewearied, weak and spent, 

I quickly swoon'd away ; 
And there beneath the greenwood shade 

Long time I lifeless lay. 

"At length the knight brought me relief, 
And rais'd me from the ground : 166 

But neither of my pretty babes 
Could ever more be found. 

"And while in search we wander'd far, 
We met that gyant grim ; 170 

Who ruthless slew my trusty knight, 
And bare me off with him. 

"But charm'd by heav'n, or else my griefs, 

He offer'd me no wrong ; 
Save that within these lonely walls 175 

I've been immur'd so long." 

Now, surely, said the youthful knight, 

You are Lady Bellisance, 
Wife to the Grecian emperor : 

Your brother's King of France. 180 

For in your royal brother's court 

Myself my breeding had ; 
Where oft the story of your woes 

Hath made my bosom sad. 



414 



THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. 



If so, know your accuser's dead, 185 

And dying own'd his crime ; 
And long your lord hath sought you out 

Thro' every foreign clime. 

And when no tidings he could learn 
Of his much-wronged wife, 190 

He vow'd thenceforth within his court 
To lead a hermit's life. 



Now heaven is kind ! the lady said ; 

And dropt a joyful tear : 
Shall I once more behold my lord? 

That lord I love so dear ? 



195 



But, madam, said Sir Valentine, 

And knelt upon his knee ; 
Know you the cloak that wrapt your babe, 

If you the same should see ? 200 

And pulling forth the cloth of gold 

In which himself was found ; 
The lady gave a sudden shriek 

And fainted on the ground. 

But by his pious care reviv'd, 205 

His tale she heard anon ; 
And soon by other tokens found, 

He was indeed her son. 

But who's this hairy youth, she said; 
He much resembles thee : 210 



The bear devour'd my youngest son, 
Or sure that son were he. 

Madam, this youth with bears was bred, 

And rear'd within their den. 
But recollect ye any mark 215 

To know your son agen ? 

Upon his little side, quoth she, 

Was stampt a bloody rose. 
Here, lady, see the crimson mark 

Upon his body grows ! 220 

Then clasping both her new-found sons 
She bath'd their cheeks with tears ; 

And soon towards her brothers court 
Her joyful course she steers. 

What pen can paint King Pepin's joy, 225 

His sister thus restor'd ! 
And soon a messenger was sent 

To chear her dropping lord : 

Who came in haste with all his peers, 
To fetch her home to Greece ; 230 

Where many happy years they reign'd 
In perfect love and peace. 

To them Sir Ursine did succeed, 

And long the sceptre bare. 
Sir Valentine he stay'd in France, 235 

And was his uncle's heir. *** 



XIII. 



ft \t Jrapc 0f (Hantkg. 



This humorous song (as a former Editor* 
has well observed) is to old metrical romances 
and ballads of chivalry, what Don Quixote is 
to prose narratives of that kind: — a lively 
satire on their extravagant fictions. But 
although the satire i3 thus general, the sub- 
ject of this ballad is local and peculiar; so 
that many of the finest strokes of humour 
are lost for want of our knowing the minute 
circumstances to which they allude. Many 
of them can hardly now be recovered, although 

* Collection of Historical Ballads in 3 vols. 1727. 



we have been fortunate enough to learn the 
general subject to which the satire referred, 
and shall detail the information with which 
we have been favoured, in a separate memoir 
at the end of the poem. 

In handling his subject, the Author has 
brought in most of the common incidents 
which occur in Romance. The description 
of the dragon* — his outrages — the people 
flying to the knight for succour — his care in 
choosing his armour — his being dressed for 



* See aboye, p. 352, and p. 390. 



THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. 



415 



fight by a young damsel — and most of the 
circumstances of the battle and victory (al- 
lowing for the burlesque turn given to them), 
are what occur in every book of chivalry, 
whether in prose or verse. 

If any one piece, more than other, is more 
particularly levelled at, it seems to be the old 
rhyming legend of Sir Bevis. There a Dragon 
is attacked from a well in a manner not very 
remote from this of the ballad : 

There was a well, so have I wynne, 
And Bevis stumbled ryght therein. 
* * * * 

Than was he glad without fayle, 
And rested a whyle for his avayle ; 
And dranke of that water his fyll ; 
And than he lepte out, with good wyll, 
And with Morglay his brande 
He assayled the dragon, I understande: 
On the dragon he smote so faste, 
Where that he hit the scales braste : 
The dragon then faynted sore, 
And cast a galon and more 
Out of his mouthe of venim strong, 
And on Syr Bevis he it flong : 
It was venymous y-wis. 

This seems to be meant by the Dragon of 
Wantley's stink, ver. 110. As the politic 
knight's creeping out, and attacking the dra- 
gon, &c, seems evidently to allude to the fol- 
lowing: 

Bevis blessed himselfe, and forthe yode, 

And lepte out with haste full good ; 

And Bevis unto the dragon gone is ; 

And the dragon also to Bevis. 

Longe and harde was that fyght 

Betwene the dragon and that knyght ; 

But ever whan Syr Bevis was hurt sore, 

He went to the well, and washed him thore ; 

He was as hole as any man, 

Ever freshe as whan he began. 

The dragon sawe it might not avayle 

Besyde the well to hold batayle ; 

He thought he would, wyth some wyle, 

Out of that place Bevis begyle ; 

He woulde have flowen then awaye, 

But Bevis lepte after with good Morglaye, 

And hyt him under the wynge, 

As he was in his flyenge, &e. 

Sign. M. jv. L. j. &c. 
53 



After all, perhaps the writer of this ballad 
was acquainted with the above incidents only 
through the medium of Spenser, who has as- 
sumed most of them in his " Faery Queen." 
At least some particulars in the description 
of the Dragon, &c, seem evidently borrowed 
from the latter. See Book I., Canto 11, where 
the Dragon's " two wynges like sayls — huge 
long tayl — with stings — his cruel rending 
clawes — and yron teeth — his breath of smo- 
thering smoke and sulphur" — and the dura- 
tion of the fight for upwards of two days, 
bear a great resemblance to passages in the 
following ballad ; though it must be confessed 
that these particulars are common to all old 
writers of romance. 

Although this ballad must have been writ- 
ten early in the last century, we have met 
with none but such as were comparatively 
modern copies. It is here printed from one 
in Roman letter, in the Pepys Collection, col- 
lated with such others as could be procured. 

Old stories tell how Hercules 

A dragon slew at Lerna, 
With seven heads, and fourteen eyes, 
To see and well discerne-a : 
But he had a club this dragon to drub, 5 

Or he had ne'er done it, I warrant ye : 
But More of More-Hall, with nothing at all, 
He slew the dragon of Waniley. 

This dragon had two furious wings, 

Each one upon each shoulder ; 10 

With a sting in his tayl, as long as a flayl, 
Which made him bolder and bolder. 
He had long claws, and in his jaws 

Four and forty teeth of iron ; 
With a hide as tough as any buff, 15 

Which did him round environ. 

Have you not heard how the Trojan horse 

Held seventy men in his belly ? 
This dragon was not quite so big, 

But very near, I'll tell ye. 20 

Devoured he poor children three, 

That could not with him grapple; 
And at one sup he eat them up, 
As one would eat an apple. 

All sorts of cattle this dragon did eat, 25 

Some say he ate up trees, 
And that the forests sure he would 

Devour up by degrees : 



416 



THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. 



For houses and churches were to him geese 
and turkies ; 
He ate all, and left none behind, 30 

But some stones, dear Jack, that he could 
not crack, 
Which on the hills you will find. 

In Yorkshire, near fair Rotherham, 

The place I know it well ; 
Some two or three miles, or thereabouts, 
I vow I cannot tell ; 36 

But there is a hedge, just on the hill edge, 

And Matthew's house hard by it ; 
there and then was this dragon's den, 
You could not chuse but spy it. 40 

Some say, this dragon was a witch ; 

Some say, he was a devil, 
For from his nose a smoke arose, 
And with it burning snivel ; 
Which he cast off, when he did cough, 45 

In a well that he did stand by ; 

Which made it look just like a brook 

Running with burning brandy. 

Hard by a furious knight there dwelt, 

Of whom all towns did ring, 50 

For he could wrestle, play at quarter-staff, 
kick, cuff and huff, 
Call son of a whore, do any kind of thing: 
By the tail and the main, with his hands 
twain 
He swung a horse till he was dead ; 
And that which is stranger, he for very anger 
Eat him all up but his head. 56 

These children, as I told, being eat ; 

Men, women, girls, and boys, 
Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging, 
And made a hideous noise : 60 

save us all, More of More-hall, 

Thou peerless knight of these woods ; 
Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us a 
rag on, 
We'll give thee all our goods. 

Tut, tut, quoth he, no goods I want ; 65 
But I want, I want, in sooth, 

A fair maid of sixteen, that's brisk and 
keen, 
With smiles about the mouth ; 

Yer. 29, were to him gorse and birches. Other copies. 



Hair black as sloe, skin white as snow, 
With blushes her cheeks adorning ; 70 

To anoynt me o'er night, ere I go to fight, 
And to dress me in the morning. 

This being done, he did engage 

To hew the dragon down ; 
But first he went, new armour to 75 

Bespeak at Sheffield town ; 
With spikes all about, not within but without, 

Of steel so sharp and strong ; 
Both behind and before, arms, legs, and all 
o'er, 
Some five or six inches long. 80 

Had you but seen him in this dress, 
How fierce he look'd and how big, 
You would have thought him for to be 
Some Egyptian porcupig : 
He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all, 85 

Each cow, each horse, and each hog : 
For fear they did flee, for they took him to be 
Some strange outlandish hedgehog. 

To see this fight, all people then 

Got up on trees and houses, 90 

On churches some, and chimneys too ; 
But these put on their trowses, 
Not to spoil their hose. As soon as he rose, 

To make him strong and mighty, 
He drank by the tale, six pots of ale, 95 

And a quart of aqua-vitae. 

It is not strength that always wins, 

For wit doth strength excell ; 
Which made our cunning champion 

Creep down into a well ; 100 

Where he did think, this dragon would drink, 

And so he did in truth ; 
And as he stoop'd low, he rose up and cry'd, 
boh! 
And hit him in the mouth. 

Oh, quoth the dragon, pox take thee, come 
out, 105 

Thou disturb'st mo in my drink : 
And then he turn'd, and s ... at him ; 
Good lack how he did stink : 
Beshrew thy soul, thy body's foul, 

Thy dung smells not like balsam ; 110 

Thou son of a whore, thou stink'st so sore, 
Sure thy diet is unwholesome. 



THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. 



417 



Our politick knight, on the other side, 

Crept out upon the brink, 
And gave the dragon such a douse, 115 
He knew not what to thiuk : 
By cock, quoth he, say you so, do you see ? 

And then at him he let fly 
With hand and with foot, and so they went 
to 't ; 
And the word it was, Hey boys, hey ! 120 

Your words, quoth the dragon, I don't un- 
derstand ; 
Then to it they fell at all, 
Like two wild boars so fierce, if I may 
Compare great things with small. 
Two days and a night, with this dragon did 
fight 125 

Our champion on the ground ; 
Though their strength it was great, their 
skill it was neat, 
They never had one wound. 

At length the hard earth began to quake, 

The dragon gave him a knock, 130 

Which made him to reel, and straitway he 

thought, 
To lift him as high as a rock, 
And thence let him fall. But More of More- 
hall, 
Like a valiant son of Mars, 
As he came like a lout, so he turn'd him 
about, 135 

And hit him a kick on the a . . . 

Oh, quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh, 

And turn'd six times together, 
Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearing 
Out of his throat of leather ; 
More of More-hall ! thou rascal ! 140 

Would I had seen thee never ; 
With the thing at thy foot, thou hast prick'd 
my a . . . gut, 
And I'm quite undone for ever. 

Murder, murder, the dragon cry'd, 145 

Alack, alack, for grief: 
Had you but mist that place, you could 
Have done me no mischief. 
Then his head he shaked, trembled and 
quaked, 
And down he laid and cry'd ; 150 

First on one knee, then on back tumbled he, 
So groan'd, kickt, s . . ., and dy'd. 



*#* A description of the supposed scene of 
the foregoing ballad, which was communica- 
ted to the Editor in 1767, is here given in 
the words of the relator : 

" In Yorkshire, six miles from Rotherham, 
is a village, called Wortley, the seat of the 
late Wortley Montague, Esq. About a mile 
from this village is a Lodge, named Warn- 
cliff Lodge, but vulgarly called Wantley : 
here lies the scene of the song. I was there 
above forty years ago : and it being a woody 
rocky place, my friend made me clamber 
over rocks and stones, not telling me to what 
end, till I came to a sort of cave ; then asked 
my opinion of the place, and pointing to one 
end, says, Here lay the Dragon killed by 
Moor of Moor-Hall : here lay his head ; here 
lay his tail ; and the stones we came over on 
the hill, are those he could not crack ; and 
yon white house you see half a mile off, is 
Moor-Hall. I had dined at the lodge, and 
knew the man's name was Matthew, who was 
a keeper to Mr. Wortley, and, as he endea- 
voured to persuade me, was the same Mat- 
thew mentioned in the song: in the house is 
the picture of the Dragon and Moor of Moor- 
Hall, and near it a well, which, says he, is 
the one described in the ballad. 

f4t Since the former editions of this hu- 
morous old song were printed, the following 
" Key to the Satire," hath been communica- 
ted by Godfrey Bosville, Esq., of Thorp, near 
Malton, in Yorkshire ; who, in the most 
obliging manner, gave full permission to sub- 
join it to the poem. 

Wancliffe Lodge, and Warncliffe Wood 
(vulgarly pronounced Wantley), are in the 
parish of Penniston, in Yorkshire. The rec- 
tory of Penniston was part of the dissolved 
monastery of St. Stephen's, Westminster ; and 
was granted to the Duke of Norfolk's family : 
who therewith endowed an hospital, which he 
built at Sheffield, for women. The trustees 
let the impropriation of the great tithes of 
Penniston to the Wortley family, who got a 
great deal by it, and wanted to get still more : 
for Mr. Nicholas Wortley attempted to take 
the tithes in kind, but Mr. Francis Bosville 
opposed him, and there was a decree in fa- 
vour of the modus in 37th Eliz. The vicar- 
age of Penniston did not go along with the 
rectory, but with the copyhold rents, and was 



•118 



ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 



part of a large purchase made by Ralph Bos- 
ville, Esq., from Queen Elizabeth, in the 2d 
year of her reign : and that part he sold in 
12th Eliz. to his elder brother Godfrey, the 
father of Francis ; who left it, with the rest 
of his estate, to his wife, for her life, and 
then to Ralph, 3d son of his uncle Ralph. 
The widow married Lyonel Rowlestone, lived 
eighteen years, and survived Ralph. 

This premised, the ballad apparently re- 
lates to the lawsuit carried on concerning this 
claim of tithes made by the Wortley family. 
" Houses and churches were to him geese 
and turkeys :" which are titheable things, the 
Dragon chose to live on. Sir Francis Wort- 
ley, the son of Nicholas, attempted again to 
take the tithes in kind : but the parishioners 
subscribed an agreement to defend their mo- 
dus. And at the head of the agreement was 
Lyonel Rowlestone, who is supposed to be 
one of " the Stones, dear Jack, which the 
Dragon could not crack." The agreement is 
still preserved in a large sheet of parchment, 
dated 1st of James I., and is full of names 
and seals, which might be meant by the coat 
of armour, "with spikes all about, both within 
and without." More of More-hall was either 
the attorney, or counsellor, who conducted 
the suit. He is not distinctly remembered, 
but More-hall is still extant at the very bot- 
tom of Wantley [Warncliff] Wood, and lies 
so low, that it might be said to be in a well : 
as the Dragon's den [Warncliff Lodge] was 
at the top of the wood, " with Matthew's 



house hard by it." The keepers belonging 
to the Wortley family were named, for many 
generations, Matthew Northall : the last of 
them left this lodge, within memory, to be 
keeper to the Duke of Norfolk. The present 
owner of More-hall still attends Mr. Bos- 
ville's Manor Court at Oxspring, and pays a 
rose a year. " More of More-hall, with no- 
thing at all, slew the Dragon of Wantley." 
He gave him, instead of tithes, so small a 
modus, that it was in effect, nothing at all, 
and was slaying him with a vengeance. " The 
poor children three," &c, cannot surely mean 
the three sisters of Francis Bosville, who 
would have been coheiresses, had he made no 
will? The late Mr. Bosville had a contest 
with the descendants of two of them, the late 
Sir Geo. Saville's father, and Mr. Copley, about 
the presentation to Penniston, they supposing 
Francis had not the power to give this part 
of the estate from the heirs at law ; but it was 
decided against them. The Dragon (Sir 
Francis Wortley) succeeded better with hia 
cousin Wordesworth, the freehold lord of the 
manor (for it is the copyhold manor that be- 
longs to Mr. Bosville) having persuaded him 
not to join the refractory parishioners, under 
a promise that he would let him his tithes 
cheap : and now the estates of Wortley and 
Wordesworth are the only lands that pay 
tithes in the parish. 

N. B. The " two days and a night," men- 
tioned in ver. 125, as the duration of the com- 
bat, was probably that of the trial at law. 



XIV. 



St. tege for $n$Iatt&. 



THE FIRST PART. 



As the former song is in ridicule of the 
extravagant incidents in old ballads and 
metrical romances ; so this is a burlesque of 
their style ; particularly of the rambling 
transitions and wild accumulation of un- 
connected parts, so frequent in many of 
them. 

This ballad is given from an old black-letter 
copy in the Pepjs Collection, " imprinted at 
London, 1612." It is more ancient than 
many of the preceding ; but we place it here 



for the sake of connecting it with the Second 
Part. 

Why doe you boast of Arthur and his 
knightes, 

Knowing 'well' how many men have en- 
dured fightes ? 

For besides King Arthur, and Lancelot du 
lake, 

Or Sir Tristram de Lionel, that fought for 
ladies sake ; 



ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 



419 



Read in old histories, and there you shall 

see 
How St. George, St. George the dragon 
made to flee. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

Mark our father Abraham, when first he 

resckued Lot 
Onely with his household, what conquest 

there he got : 
David was elected a prophet and a king, 
He slew the great Goliah, with a stone 

within a sling : 
Yet these were not knightes of the table 

round ; 
Nor St. George, St. George, who the dragon 

did confound. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 

was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 

Jephthah and Gideon did lead their men to 

fight, 
They conquered the Amorites, and put them 

all to flight ; 
Hercules his labours 'were' on the plaines 

of Basse ; 
And Sampson slew a thousand with the 

jawbone of an asse, 
And eke he threw a temple downe, and did 

a mighty spoyle : 
But St. George, St. George he did the dra- 
gon foyle. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 

was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 

The warres of ancient monarchs it were too 

long to tell, 
And likewise of the Romans, how farre 

they did excell ; 
Hannyball and Scipio in many a fielde did 

fighte : 
Orlando Furioso he was a worthy knighte : 
Remus and Romulus, were they that Rome 

did builde : 
But St. George, St. George the dragon made 

to yielde. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 

was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 



The noble Alphonso, that was the Spanish 

king, 
The order of the red scarffes and bandrolles 

in did bring :* 
He had a troupe of mighty knightes, when 

first he did begin, 
Which sought adventures farre and neare, 

that conquest they might win ; 
The ranks of the Pagans he often put to 

flight: 
But St. George, St. George did with the 

dragon fight. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 

was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 



Many 'knights' have fought with proud 

Tamberlaine : 
Cutlax the Dane, great warres he did main- 

taine : 
Rowland of Beame, and good ' Sir' Oli- 

vere 
In the forest of Aeon slew both woolfe and 

beare : 
Besides that noble Hollander, ' Sir* Goward 

with the bill : 
But St. George, St. George the dragon's 

blood did spill. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 

was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 



Valentine and Orson were of King Pepin's 

blood : 
Alfride and Henry they were brave knightes 

and good : 
The four sons of Aymon, that follow'd 

Charlemaine : 
Sir Hughon of Burdeaux, and Godfrey of 

Bullaine : 
These were all French knights that lived 

in that age : 
But St. George, St. George the dragon did 

assuage. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 

was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 



* This probably alludes to " An Ancient Order of Knight- 
hood, called the Order of the Band, instituted by Don Al- 
phonsus, King of Spain, ... to wear a red ribband of three 
fingers breadth," &c. See Ames' Typog. p. 327. 



420 



ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 



Bevis conquered Ascapart, and after slew 

the boare, 
And then he crost beyond the seas to com- 
bat with the moore : 
Sir Isenbras and Eglamore, they were 

knightes most bold ; 
And good Sir John Mandeville of travel 

much hath told : 
There were many English knights that 

Pagans did convert : 
But St. George, St. George pluckt out the 

dragon's heart. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 

was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 

The noble Earl of Warwick, that was calPd 

Sir Guy, 
The infidels and pagans stoutlie did defie ; 
He slew the giant Brandimore, and after 

was the death 
Of that most ghastly dun cowe, the divell 

of Dunsmore heath ; 
Besides his noble deeds all done beyond 

the seas : 
But St. George, St. George the dragon did 

appease. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 

was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

Richard Coeur-de-lion, erst king of this 

land, 
He the lion gored with his naked hand :* 
The false Duke of Austria nothing did he 

feare ; 
But his son he killed with a boxe on the 

eare; 



Besides his famous actes done in the holy 

lande: 
But St. George, St. George the dragon did 
withstande. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

Henry the fifth he conquered all France, 

And quarter'd their arms, his honour to 
advance ; 

He their cities razed, and threw their cas- 
tles downe, 

And his head he honoured with a double 
crowne : 

He thumped the French-men, and after 
home he came ; 

But St. George, St. George he did the dra- 
gon tame. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

St. David of Wales the Welsh-men much 

advance : 
St. Jaques of Spaine, that never yet broke 

lance : 
St. Patricke of Ireland, which was St. 

Georges boy, 
Seven yeares he kept his horse, and then 

stole him away : 
For which knavish act, as slaves they doe 

remain e : 
But St. George, St. George the dragon he 

hath slaine. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 

was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 



XV 



St. &tax$t tax (flfofltottfr, 



THE SECOND PART, 



— Was written by John Grubb, M.A., of 
Christ Church, Oxford. The occasion of its 
being composed is said to have been as fol- 
lows. A set of gentlemen of the university 

* Alluding to the fabulous exploits attributed to this 
king in the old romances. See the Dissertation prefixed to 
the Third Series. 



had formed themselves into a Club, all the 
members of which were to be of the name of 
George ; their anniversary feast was to be 
held on St. George's day. Our Author soli- 
cited strongly to be admitted ; but his name 
being unfortunately John, this disqualifica- 
tion was dispensed with only upon this condi 



ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 



421 



tion, that ho would compose a song in honour 
of their Patron Saint, and would every year 
produce one or more new stanzas, to be sung 
on their annual festival. This gave birth to 
the following humorous performance, the 
several stanzas of which were the produce 
of many successive anniversaries.* 

This diverting poem was long handed about 
in manuscript ; at length a friend of Grubb's 
undertook to get it printed, who, not keep- 
ing pace with the impatience of his friends, 
was addressed in the following whimsical 
macaronic lines, which, in such a collection 
as this, may not improperly accompany the 
poem itself. 

ExrOSTULATIUNCULA, sive „ QuERIMONIUN- 

cuCA*-ad Antonium [Atherton] ob Poema 
Johannis Grub 

Viri "tov ua.w ingeniosissimi in lucem non- 
dum edit. 

Toni ! Tune sines divina poemata Grubbi 
Intomb'd in secret thus still to remain any 

longer, 
Tovvofta gov shall last, Ji rpu/3j3f Sta^rtfjifs 

Grubbe tuum nomen vivet dum nobilis ale-a 
Efficit heroas, dignamque heroe puellam. 
Est genus heroum, quos nobilis efficit ale-a 
Qui pro niperkin clamant, quaternque liquoris 
Quem vocitant Homines, Brandy, Superi 

Cherry-brandy, 
Ssepe illi long-cut, vel small-cut flare Tobacco 
Sunt soliti pipos. Ast si generosior herba 
(Per varios casus, per tot descrimina rerum) 
Mundungus desit, turn non funcare recusant 
Brown-paper tosta, vel quod fit arundine bed- 
mat. 
Hie labor, hoc opus est heroum ascedere 

sedes ! 
Ast ego quo rapiar? quo me feret entheus 

ardor, 
Grubbe tui memorem? Divinum expande 

poema. 
Quas mora ? quae ratio est, quin Grubbi pro- 

tinus anser ■ 

Virgilii, Flaccique simul canat inter olores? 

* To this circumstance it is owing that the Editor has 
never met with two copies in which the stanzas are ar- 
ranged alike : he has therefore thrown them into what 
appeared the most natural order. The verses are properly 
long Alexandrines, but the narrowness of the page made 
it necessary to subdivide them: they are here printed 
with many improvements. 



At length the importunity of his friends 
prevailed, and Mr. Grubb's song was pub- 
lished at Oxford under the following title : 

The British Heroes, 

A New Poem in honour of St. George, 

By Mr. John Grubb, 

School-master of Christ-Church. 

Oxon. 1688. 
Favete Unguis : carmina non prius 
Audita, musarum sacerdos 

Canto. Hor. 

Sold by Henry Clements. Oxon. 

The story of King Arthur old 

Is very memorable, 
The number of his valiant knights, 

And roundness of his table : 
The knights around his table in 5 

A circle sate, d'ye see : 
And altogether made up one 

Large hoop of chivalry. 
He had a sword, both broad and sharp, 

Y-cleped Caliburn, 10 

Would cut a flint more easily 

Than pen-knife cuts a corn ; 
As case-knife does a capon carve, 

So would it carve a rock 
And split a man at single slash, 15 

From noddle down to nock. 
As Roman Augur's steel of yore 

Dissected Tarquin's riddle, 
So this would cut both conjurer 

And whetstone thro' the middle. 20 

He was the cream of Brecknock, 

And flower of all the Welsh : 
But George he did the dragon fell, 

And gave him a plaguy squelsh 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
was for France ; 25 

Sing, Honi soit qui mat y pense. 

Pendragon, like his father Jove, 

Was fed with milk of goat ; 
And like him made a noble shield 

Of she-goat's shaggy coat : 30 

On top of burnisht helmet he 

Did wear a crest of leeks ; 
And onions' heads, whose dreadful nod 

Drew tears down hostile cheeks. 
Itch and Welsh blood did make him hot, 

And very prone to ire ; 36 

IF was ting'd with brimstone, like a match, 

And would as soon take fire, 



422 



ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 



As brimstone he took inwardly 

When scurf gave him occasion, 40 

His postern puff of wind was a 

Sulphureous exhalation. 
The Briton never tergivers'd, 

But was for adverse drubbing, 
And never turn'd his back to aught, 45 

But to a post for scrubbing. 
His sword would serve for battle, or 

For dinner, if you please ; 
When it had slain a Cheshire man, 

'Twould toast a Cheshire cheese. 50 

He wounded, and, in their own blood, 

Did anabaptize^ Pagans : 
But George he made the dragon an 

Example to all dragons. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
was for France ; 55 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 

Brave Warwick Guy, at dinner time, 

Challeng'd a gyant savage ; 
And streight came out the unwieldy lout 

Brim-full of wrath and cabbage : 60 

He had a phiz of latitude, 

And was full thick i' th' middle ; 
The cheeks of puffed trumpeter, 

And paunch of squire Beadle.* 
But the knight fell'd him like an oak, 65 

And did upon his back tread ; 
The valiant knight his weazon cut, 

And Atropos his packthread. 
Besides he fought with a dun cow, 

As say the poets witty, 70 

A dreadful dun, and horned too, 

Like dun of Oxford city : 
The fervent dog-days made her mad, 

By causing heat of weather, 
Syrius and Procyon baited her, 75 

As bull-dogs did her father : 
Grasiers, nor butchers this fell beast 

E'er of her frolick hindred ; 
John Dossetf she'd knock down as flat, 

As John knocks down her kindred : 80 
Her heels would lay ye all along, 

And kick into a swoon ; 
Frewin'sJ cow-heels keep up your corpse, 

But hers would beat you down. 



* Men of bulk answerable to their places, as is well known 
at Oxford. 

f A butcher that then served the college. 

J A cook, who on fast nights was famous for selling 
cow-heel and tripe. 



She vanquisht many a sturdy wight, 85 

And proud was of the honour ; 
Was pufft by mauling butchers so, 

As if themselves had blown her. 
At once she kickt, and pusht at Guy, 

But all that would not fright him ; 90 
Who wav'd his winyard o'er sir-loyn, 

As if held gone to knight him. 
He let herolood, frenzy to cure, 

And eke he did her gall rip ; 
His trenchant blade, like cook's long spit, 

Ran thro' the monster's bald-rib : 96 
He rear'd up the vast crooked rib, 

Instead of arch triumphal : 
But George hit th' dragon such a pelt, 

As made him on his bum fall. 100 

St. George hfe. was for England ; St. Dennis 
was for France ; 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 

Tamerlain, with Tartarian bow, 

The Turkish squadrons slew ; 
And fetch'd the pagan crescent down, 105 

With half-moon made of yew : 
His trusty bow proud Turks did gall 

With showers of arrows thick, 
And bow-strings, without strangling, sent 

Grand-Visiers to old Nick: 110 

Much turbants, and much Pagan pates 

He made to humble in dust ; 
And heads of Saracens he fixt 

On spear, as on a sign-post : 
He coop'd in cage Bajazet the prop 115 

Of Mahomet's religion, 
As if't had been the whispering bird, 

That prompted him, the pigeon. 
In Turkey-leather scabbard, he 

Did sheath his blade so trenchant : 120 
But George he swing'd the dragon's tail, 

And cut off every inch on't. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
was for France ; 

Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

The arnazon Thalestris was 125 

Both beautiful and bold ; 
She sear'd her breasts with iron hot, 

And bang'd her foes with cold. 
Her hand was like the tool, wherewith 

Jove keeps proud mortals under : 130 
It shone just like his lightning, 

And batter'd like his thunder. 
Her eye darts lightning, that would blast 

The proudest he that swagger'd, 



ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 



423 



135 



And melt the rapier of his soul, 

In its corporeal scabbard. 
Her beauty, and her drum to foes 

Did cause amazement double ; 
As timorous larks amazed are 

With light and with a low-bell : 140 
With beauty, and that lapland charm,* 

Poor men she did bewitch all ; 
Still a blind whining lover had, 

As Pallas had her scrich-owl. 
She kept the chastness of a nun 145 

In armour, as in cloyster : 
But George undid the dragon just 

As you'd undo an oister. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
was for France ; 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 150 

Stout Hercules was offspring of 

Great Jove and fair Alcmene : 
One part of him celestial was, 

One part of him terrene. 
To scale the hero's cradle walls 

Two fiery snakes combin'd, 
And, curling into swaddling cloaths, 

About the infant twin'd ; 
But he put out these dragons' fires, 

And did their hissing stop ; 160 

As red-hot iron with hissing noise 

Is quencht in blacksmith's shop. 
He cleans'd a stable, and rubb'd down 

The horses of new-comers ; 
And out of horse-dung he rais'd fame 105 

As Tom Wrenchf does cucumbers. 
He made a river help him through ; 

Alpheus was under-groom ; 
The stream, disgust at office mean, 

Ran murmuring thro' the room : 170 
This liquid ostler to prevent 

Being tired with that long work, 
His father Neptune's trident took, 



155 



Instead of three-tooth'd dung-fork. 



175 



This Hercules, as soldier, and 

As spinster, could take pains ; 
His club would sometimes spin ye flax, 

And sometimes knock out brains : 
H' was forc'd to spin his miss a shift 

By Juno's wrath and her-spite ; 180 

Fair Omphale whipt him to his wheel, 

As cook whips barking turn-spit. 
From man, or churn, he well knew how 

To get him lasting fame : 

* The (trum. 

t Who kept Paradise Gardens at Oxford. 

54 



He'd pound a giant, till the blood, 185 

And milk till butter came. 
Often he fought with huge battoon, 

And oftentimes he boxed ; 
Tapt a fresh monster once a month, 

As Hervey* doth fresh hogshead. 190 
He gave Anteus such a hug, 

As wrestlers give in Cornwall : 
But George he did the dragon kill, 

As dead as any door-nail. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
was for France ; 195 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 

The Gemini, sprung from an egg, 

Were put into a cradle : 
Their brains with knocks and bottled-ale, 

Were often-times full addle : 200 

And, scarcely hatched, these sons of him, 

That hurls the bolt trisulcate, 
With helmet-shell on tender head, 

Did tustle with red-ey'd pole-cat, 
Castor a horseman, Pollux tho' 205 

A boxer was, I wist : 
The one was fam'd for iron heel ; 

Th' other for leaden fist. 
Pollux to shew he was a god, 

When he was in a passion 210 

With fist made noses fall down flat 

By way of adoration : 
This fist, as sure as French disease, 

Demolish'd noses' ridges : 
He, like a certain lordf was fam'd 215 

For breaking down of bridges. 
Castor the flame of fiery steed 

With well-spur'd boots took down ; 
As men, with leathern buckets, quench 

A fire in country town. 220 

His famous horse, that liv'd on oats, 

Is sung on oaten quill ; 
By bards' immortal provender 

The nag surviveth still. 
This shelly brood on none but knaves 225 

Employ'd their brisk artillery : 
And flew as naturally at rogues, 

As eggs at thief in pillory. % 

* A noted drawer at the Mermaid tavern in Oxford. 
+ Lord Lovelace broke down the bridges about Oxford, at 
the beginning of the Revolution. See on this subject a 
ballad in Smith's Poems, p. 102. Lond. 1713. 

J It has been suggested by an ingenious correspondent, 
that this was a popular subject at that time: 
Not carted Bawd, or Dan de Foe, 
In wooden Ruff ere blustered so. 

Smith's Poems, p. 117. 



424 



ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 



Much sweat they spent in furious fight, 

Much blood they did effund : 230 

Their whites they vented thro' the pores ; 

Their yolks thro' gaping wound ; 
Then both were cleans'd from blood and 
dust 

To make a heavenly sign ; 
The lads were, like their armour, scowr'd, 

And then hung up to shine; 236 

Such were the heavenly double-Dicks 

The sons of Jove and Tyndar : 
But George he cut the dragon up, 

As he had bin duck or windar. 240 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
was for France ; 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 

Gorgon a twisted adder wore 

For knot upon her shoulder : 
She kemb'd her hissing periwig, 245 

And curling snakes did powder. 
These snakes they made stiff changelings 

Of all the folks they hist on ; 
They turned barbars into hones, 

And masons into free-stone : 250 

Sworded magnetic Amazon 

Her shield to load-stone changes ; 
Then amorous sword by magic belt 

Clung fast unto her haunches. 
This shield long village did protect, 255 

And kept the army from town, 
And chang'd the bullies into rocks, 

That came t' invade Long-Compton.* 
She post-diluvian stores unmans, 

And Pyrrha's work unravels ; 260 

And stares Deucalion's hardy boys 

Into their primitive pebbles. 
Red noses she to rubies turns, ** 

And noddles into bricks : 
But George made dragon laxative ; 265 

And gave him a bloody flix. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 

By boar-spear Meleager got 

An everlasting name, 270 

And out of haunch of basted swine, 

He hew'd eternal fame. 
This beast each hero's trouzers ript, 

And rudely shew'd his bare-breech, 



* See the account of Rolricht Stones, in Dr. Plott's Hist, 
of Oxfordshire. 



Prickt but the wem, and out there came 275 

Heroic guts and garbadge. 
Legs were secur'd by iron boots 

No more than peas by peascods : 
Brass helmets, with inclos'd sculls, 

Wou'd crackle in's mouth like chesnuts. 
His tawny hairs erected were 281 

By rage, that was resistless ; 
And wrath, instead of cobler's wax, 

Did stiffen his rising bristles. 
His tusks lay'd dogs so dead asleep, 285 

Nor horn, nor whip cou'd wake 'urn : 
It made them vent both their last blood, 

And their last album-grecum. 
But the knight gor'd him with his spear, 

To make of him a tame one, 290 

And arrows thick, instead of cloves, 

He stuck in monster's gammon. 
For monumental pillar, that 

His victory might be known, 
He raised up, in cylindric form, 295 

A collar of the brawn. 
He sent his shade to shades below, 

In Stygian mud to wallow ; 
And eke the stout St. George eftsoon, 

He made the dragon follow. 300 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 

Achilles of old Chiron learnt 

The great horse for to ride ; 
H' was taught by th' Centaur's rational 
part, 305 

The hinnible to bestride. 
Bright silver feet, and shining face 

Had that stout hero's mother ; 
As rapier 's silver'd at one end, 

And wounds you at the other. 310 

Her feet were bright, his feet were swift, 

As hawk pursuing sparrow : 
" "Vler's had the metal, his the speed 

> Of Braburn's* silver arrow. 
* Thetis to double pedagogue 315 

Commits her dearest boy ; 
"Who bred him from a slender twig 

To be the scourge of Troy ; 
But ere he lasht the Trojans, h' was 

In Stygian waters steept ; 320 

As birch is soaked first in piss, 

When boys are to be whipt. 

* Bradbum, a gentleman commoner of Lincoln college, 
gave a silver arrow to be shot for by the archers of the 
university of Oxford. 



ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 



425 



"With skin exceeding hard, he rose 

From lake, so black and muddy, 
As lobsters from the ocean rise, 325 

"With shell about their body : 
And, as from lobster's broken claw, 

Pick out the fish you might ; 
So might you from one unshell'd heel 

Dig pieces of the knight. 330 

His myrmidons robb'd Priam's barns 

And hen-roosts, says the song ; 
Carried away both corn and eggs, 

Like ants from whence they sprung. 
Himself tore Hector's pantaloons, 335 

And sent him down bare-breech'd 
To pedant Radamanthus, in 

A posture to be switch'd. 
But George he made the dragon look, 

As if he had been bewitch'd. 340 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

Full fatal to the Romans was 

The Carthaginian Hanni- 
bal ; him I mean, who gave them such 345 

A devilish thump at Cannge : 
Moors thick, as goats on Penmenmure, 

Stood on the Alpes's front: 
Their one-eyed guide,* like blinking mole, 

Bor'd thro' the hind'ring mount: 350 
"Who, baffled by the massy rock, 

Took vinegar for relief; 
Like plowmen, when they hew their way 

Thro' stubborn rump of beef. 
As dancing louts from humid toeb 355 

Cast atoms of ill savour 
To blinking Hyatt, f when on vile crowd 

He merriment does endeavour, 
And saws from suffering timber out 

Some wretched tune to quiver : 360 

So Romans stunk and squeak'd at sight 

Of Affrican carnivor. 
The tawny surface of his phiz 

Did serve instead of vizzard : 
But George he made the dragon have 365 

A grumbling in his gizzard. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 



The valour of Domitian, 
It must not be forgotten ; 



370 



* Hannibal had but one eye. 

t A one-eyed fellow, who pretended to make fiddles, as 
well as play on them ; well known at that time in Oxford. 



Who from the jaws of worm-blowing flies, 

Protected veal and mutton. 
A squadron of flies errant, 

Against the foe appears ; 
With regiments of buzzing knights, 375 

And swarms of volunteers : 
The warlike wasp encourag'd 'em 

With animating hum ; 
And the loud brazen hornet next, 

He was their kettle-drum : 380 

The Spanish Don Cantharido 

Did him most sorely pester, 
And rais'd on skin of vent'rous knight 

Full many a plaguy blister. 
A bee whipt thro' his button-hole, 385 

As thro' key-hole a witch, 
And stabb'd him with her little tuck 

Drawn out of scabbard breech : 
But the undaunted knight lifts up 

An arm both big and brawny, 390 

And slasht her so, that here lay head, 

And there lay bag and honey : 
Then 'mongst the rout he flew as swift, 

As weapon made by Cyclops, 
And bravely quell'd seditious buz, 395 

By dint of massy fly-flops. 
Surviving flies do curses breathe, 

And maggots too at Caesar : 
But George he shav'd the dragon's beard, 

And Askelon* was his razor. 400 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y penje. 

John Grubb, the facetious writer of the 
foregoing song, makes a distinguished figure 
among the Oxford wits so humorously enu- 
merated in the following distich : 

Alma novem genuit celebres Rhedycina 
poetas 
Bub, Stubb, Grubb, Crabb, Trap, Young, 
Carey, Tickel, Evans. 

These were Bub Dodington (the late Lord 
Melcombe), Dr. Stubbes, our poet Grubb, Mr. 
Crabb, Dr. Trapp, the poetry-professor, Dr. 
Edw. Young, the author of Night-Thoughts, 
Walter Carey, Thomas Tickel, Esq., and Dr. 
Evans, the epigrammatist. 

As for our poet Grubb, all that we can 



* The name of St. George's sword. 



426 MARGARET'S GHOST. 


learn further of him, is contained in a few 


Cujus variam in linguis notitiam, 


extracts from the University Register, and 


et felicem erudiendis pueris industriam. 


from his epitaph. It appears from the for- 


grata adhuc memoria testatur Oxonium. 


mer that he was matriculated in 1667, being 


Ibi enim iEdi Christi initiatus, 


the son of John Grubb, " de Acton Burnel in 


artes excoluit : 


comitatu Salop, pauperis." He took his de- 


Pueros ad easdem mox excolendas. 


gree of Bachelor of Arts, June 28, 1671 : and 


accurate formavit: 


became Master of Arts, June 28, 1675. He 


Hue demum 


was appointed Head Master of the Grammar 


unanimi omnium consensu accitus, 


School at Christ Church ; and afterwards 


eandem suscepit provinciam, 


chosen into the same employment at Glou- 


quam feliciter adeo absolvit, 


cester, where he died in 1697, as appears 


ut nihil optandum sit 


from his monument in the church of St. 


nisi ut diutius nobis interfuisset ? 


Mary de Crypt in Gloucester, which is in- 


Fuit enim 


scribed with the following epitaph : 


propter festivam ingenii suavitatem, 




simplicem morum candorem, et 


H. S. E. 


praecipuam erga cognates benevolentiam 


Johannes Grubb, A. M. 


omnibus desideratissimus, 


Natus apud Acton Burnel in agro Salopiensi 


Obiit 2do die Aprilis, Anno D'ni, 1697, 


Anno Dom. 1645. 


iEtatis suae 51. 


XVI. 


itnpn 


t's §\nt. 


This ballad, which appeared in some of 


Her face was like an April morn, 5 


the public newspapers in or before the year 


Clad in a wintry cloud : 


1724, came from the pen of David Mallet, 


And clay-cold was her lily hand, 


Esq., who in the edition of his poems, 3 vols. 


That held her sable shrowd. 


1759, informs us that the plan was suggested 




by the four verses quoted above in page 359, 


So shall the fairest face appear, 


which he supposed to be the beginning of 


When youth and years are flown : 10 


some ballad now lost. 


Such is the robe that kings must wear, 


" These lines, says he, naked of ornament, 


When death has reft their crown. 


and simple as they are, struck my fancy; 




and bringing fresh into my mind an unhappy 
adventure much talked of formerly, gave 
birth to the following poem, which was writ- 
ten many years ago." 

The two introductory lines (and one or two 


Her bloom was like the springing flower, 

That sips the silver dew ; 
The rose was budded in her cheek, 15 

Just opening to the view. 


others elsewhere) had originally more of the 
ballad simplicity, viz., 


But love had, like the canker-worm, 
Consum'd her early prime : 


"When all was wrapt in dark midnight, 
And all were fast asleep," &c. 


The rose grew pale, and left her cheek ; 
She dy'd before her time. 20 


; Twas at the silent solemn hour, 


"Awake !" she cry'd, " thy true love calls, 


"When night and morning meet; 


Come from her midnight grave ; 


In glided Margaret's grimly ghost, 


Now let thy pity hear the maid 


And stood at William's feet. 


Thy love refus'd to save. 



LUCY AND COLIN. 



427 



" This is the dark and dreary hour 25 
When injur'd ghosts complain ; 

Now yawning graves give up their dead, 
To haunt the faithless swain. 

" Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, 
Thy pledge and broken oath : 30 

And give me back my maiden vow, 
And give me back my troth. 

" Why did you promise love to me, 

And not that promise keep ? 
Why did you swear mine eyes were bright, 

Yet leave those eyes to weep ? 36 

" How could you say my face was fair, 

And yet that face forsake ? 
How could you win my virgin heart, 

Yet leave that heart to break ? 40 

" Why did you say my lip was sweet, 

And made the scarlet pale ? 
And why did I, young witless maid, 

Believe the flattering tale? 

" That face, alas ! no more is fair ; 45 

These lips no longer red : 
Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death, 

And every charm is fled. 

" The hungry worm my sister is ; 

This winding-sheet I wear : 50 

And cold and weary lasts our night. 

Till that last morn appear. 



" But hark ! the cock has warn'd me hence ! 

A long and last adieu ! 
Come see, false man, how low she lies, 55 

Who died for love of you." 

The lark sung loud ; the morning smil'd 

With beams of rosy red : 
Pale William shook in every limb, 

And raving left his bed. 60 

He hyed him to the fatal place 

Where Margaret's body lay : 
And stretch'd him on the grass-green turf, 

That wrapt her breathless clay : 

And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name, 
And thrice he wept full sore : 66 

Then laid his cheek to her cold grave, 
And word spake never more. 

*V* In a late publication, entitled " The 
Friends, &c," Lond., 1773, 2 vols. 12mo. (in 
the first volume), is inserted a copy of the 
foregoing ballad, with very great variations, 
which the Editor of that work contends was 
the original ; and that Mallet adopted it for 
his own, and altered it, as here given. — But 
the superior beauty and simplicity of the pre- 
sent copy gives it so much more the air of an 
original, that it will rather be believed that 
some transcriber altered it from Mallet's, and 
adapted the lines to his own taste ; than which 
nothing is more common in popular songs 
and ballads. 



XVII. 



f *ug anfo €alhx 



— Was written by Thomas Tickell, Esq., 
the celebrated friend of Mr. Addison, and 
Editor of his works. He was the son of a 
Clergyman in the North of England ; had 
his education at Queen's College, Oxon ; was 
under-secretary to Mr. Addison and Mr. 
Craggs, when successively secretaries of state; 
and was lastly (in June, 1724) appointed 
secretary to the Lords Justices in Ireland, 
which place he held till his death in 1740. 
He acquired Mr. Addison's patronage by a 



poem in praise of the opera of Rosamond, 
written while he was at the University. 

It is a tradition in Ireland, that this song 
was written at Castletown, in the county of 
Kildare, at the request of the then Mrs. 
Conolly — probably on some event recent in 
that neighbourhood. 

Of Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair, 
Bright Lucy was the grace ; 



428 



LUCY AND COLIN. 



Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream 
Reflect so fair a face. 

Till luckless love and pining care 

Impair'd her rosy hue, 
Her coral lip, and damask cheek, 

And eyes of glossy blue. 

Oh ! have you seen a lily pale, 
When beating rains descend? 

So droop'd the slow-consuming maid ; 
Her life now near its end. 

By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains 

Take heed, ye easy fair : 
Of vengeance due to broken vows, 

Ye perjured swains beware. 



10 



15 



Three times, all in the dead of night, 

A bell was heard to ring ; 
And at her window, shrieking thrice, 

The raven flap'd his wing. 20 

Too well the love-lorn maiden knew 

That solemn boding sound ; 
And thus in dying words, bespoke 

The virgins weeping round. 

" I hear a voice you cannot hear, 25 

Which says, I must not stay ; 
I see a hand you cannot see, 

Which beckons me away. 

" By a false heart, and broken vows, 
In early youth I die. 30 

Am I to blame, because his bride 
Is thrice as rich as I ? 

"Ah Colin ! give not her thy vows ; 

Vows due to me alone : 
Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, 35 

Nor think him all thy own. 



" To-morrow in the church to wed, 

Impatient, both prepare 
But know, fond maid, and know, false youth, 

That Lucy will be there. 40 

" Then, bear my corse, ye comrades, bear, 
The bridegroom blithe to meet; 

He in his wedding-trim so gay, 
I in my winding-sheet." 

She spoke, she died ; — her corse was borne, 
The bridegroom blithe to meet ; 46 

He in his wedding-trim so gay, 
She in her winding-sheet. 

Then what were perjured Colin's thoughts? 

How were those nuptials kept? 50 

The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead, 

And all the village wept. 

Confusion, shame, remorse, despair, 

At once his bosom swell : 
The damps of death bedew'd his brow, 55 

He shook, he groan'd, he fell. 

From the vain bride (ah, bride no more !) 

The varying crimson fled, 
When, stretch'd before her rival's corse, 

She saw her husband dead. 60 

Then to his Lucy's new-made grave, 
Convey'd by trembling swains, 

One mould with her beneath one sod, 
For ever now remains. 

Oft at their grave the constant hind 65 

And plighted maid are seen ; 
With garlands gay, and true-love knots, 

They deck the sacred green. 

But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art, 
This hallow'd spot forbear ; 70 

Remember Colin's dreadful fate, 
And fear to meet him there. 



TIIE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 



429 



XVIII. 



%\t $02 aito % gWI*. 



AS REVISED AND ALTERED BY A MODERN HAND. 



Mr. Warton, in his ingenious Observations 
on Spenser, has given his opinion, that the 
fiction of the " Boy and the Mantle" is taken 
from an old French piece entitled " Le Court 
Mantel," quoted by M. de St. Palaye, in his 
curious " Memoires sur l'ancienne Chevale- 
rie," Paris, 1759, 2 torn. 12mo. ; who tells us 
the story resembles that of Ariosto's en- 
chanted cup. 'Tis possible our English poet 
may have taken the hint of this subject from 
that old French romance ; but he does not 
appear to have copied it in the manner of 
execution: to which (if one may judge from 
the specimen given in the Memoires) that of 
the Ballad does not bear the least resemblance. 
After all, 'tis most likely that all the old sto- 
ries concerning King Arthur are originally 
of British growth, and that what the French 
and other southern nations have of this kind 
were at first exported from this island. See 
Memoires de l'Acad. des Inscrip., torn, xx., 
p. 352. 

In the " Fabliaux ou Contes," 1781, 5 torn. 
12mo., of M. Le Grand (torn. I., p. 54), is 
printed a modern Version of the Old Tale Le 
Court Mantel, under a new title, Le Manteau 
maltailU, which contains the story of this 
Ballad much enlarged, so far as regards the 
Mantle, but without any mention of the Knife 
or the Horn. 

In Carleile dwelt King Arthur, 

A prince of passing might; 
And there maintain'd his table round, 

Beset with many a knight. 

And there he kept his Christmas 5 

With mirth and princely cheare, 

When, lo ! a straunge and cunning boy 
Before him did appeare. 



A kirtle and a mantle 
This boy had him upon, 

With brooches, rings, and owches, 
Full daintily bedone. 



10 



He had a sarke of silk 
About his middle meet ; 

And thus with seemely curtesy, 
He did King Arthur greet. 



15 



"God speed thee, brave King Arthur, 

Thus feasting in thy bowre ; 
And Guenever thy goodly queen, 

That fair and peerlesse flowre. 20 

" Ye gallant lords, and lordings, 

I wish you all take heed, 
Lest, what you deem a blooming rose 

Should prove a cankred weed." 



And first came Lady Guenever, 
The mantle she must trye, 

This dame, she was new-fangled, 
And of a roving eye. 

When she had tane the mantle, 
And all was with it cladde, 

From top to toe it shiver'd down, 
As tho' with sheers beshradde. 

One while it was too long, 
Another while too short, 

And wrinkled on her shoulders 
In most unseemly sort, 



25 



Then straitway from his bosome 
A little wand he drew ; 

And with it eke a mantle 
Of wondrous shape and hew. 



" Now have thou here, King Arthur, 
Have this here of mee, 30 

And give unto thy comely queen, 
All-shapen as you see. 



" No wife it shall become, 

That once hath been to blame." 

Then every knight in Arthur's court 
Slye glaunced at his dame. 



35 



40 



45 



430 



THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 



Now green, now red it seemed, 

Then all of sable hue. 50 

" Beshrew me quoth King Arthur, 

I think thou beest not true." 

Down she threw the mantle, 

Ne longer would not stay ; 
But storming like a fury, 55 

To her chamber flung away. 

She curst the whoreson weaver, 
That had the mantle wrought : 

And doubly curst the froward impe, 
Who thither had it brought. 60 

" I had rather live in desarts 

Beneath the green-wood tree : 
Than here, base king, among thy groomes, 

The sport of them and thee." 

Sir Kay call'd forth his lady, 65 

And bade her to come near : 
" Yet dame if thou be guilty, 

I pray thee now forbear." 

This lady, pertly gigling, 

With forward step came on, 70 

And boldly to the little boy 

With fearless face is gone. 

When she had tane the mantle, 

With purpose for to wear : 
It shrunk up to her shoulder, 75 

And left her b**side bare. 

Then every merry knight, 

That was in Arthur's court, 
Gib'd and laught, and flouted, 

To see that pleasant sport. 80 

Downe she threw the mantle, 

No longer bold or gay, 
But with a face all pale and wan, 

To her chamber slunk away. 

Then forth came an old knight, 85 

A pattering o'er his creed ; 
And proffered to the little boy 

Five nobles to his meed ; 

" And all the time of Christmas 

Plumb-porridge shall be thine, 90 

If thou wilt let my lady fair 
Within the mantle shine." 



A saint his lady seemed, 

With step demure and slow, 
And gravely to the mantle 95 

With mincing pace doth goe. 

When she the same had taken, 

That was so fine and thin, 
It shrivell'd all about her, 

And show'd her dainty skin. 100 

Ah ! little did her mincing, 

Or his long prayers bestead ; 
She had no more hung on her, 

Than a tassel and a thread. 

Down she threwe the mantle, 105 

With terror and dismay, 

And, with a face of scarlet, 

To her Chamber hyed away. 
*. . t \ , 

Sir Cradock call'd his lady, 

And bade her to come neare ; 110 

" Come win this mantle, lady, 

And do me credit .here. 

" Come win this mantle, lady, 

For now it shall be thine, 
If thou hast never done amiss, 115 

Sith first I made thee mine." 

The lady gently blushing, 

With modest grace came on, 
And now to trye the wondrous charm 

Courageously is gone. 120 

When she had tane the mantle, 

And put it on her backe, 
About the hem it seemed 

To wrinkle and to cracke. 

" Lye still," shee cryed, " O mantle ! 125 
And shame me not for nought, 

I'll freely own whate'er amiss, 
Or blameful I have wrought. 

" Onc6 I kist Sir Cradocke 

Beneathe the green wood tree : 130 

Once I kist Sir Cradocke's mouth 

Before he married mee." 

When thus she had her shriven, 

And her worst fault had told, 
The mantle soon became her 135 

Right comely as it shold. 



THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 



431 



Most rich and fair of colour, 

Like gold it glittering shone: 
And much the knights in Arthur's court 

Admir'd her every one. 140 

Then towards King Arthur's table 

The boy he turn'd his eye: 
"Where stood a boar's head garnished 

With bayes and rosemarye. 

When thrice he o'er the boar's head 145 

His little wand had drawne, 
Quoth he, "There's never a cuckold's knife 

Can carve this head of brawne." 

Then some their whittles rubbed 

On whetstone, and on hone : 150 

Some threwe them under the table, 
And swore that they had none. 

Sir Cradock had a little knife, 

Of steel and iron made ; 
And in an instant thro' the skull 155 

He thrust the shining blade. 

He thrust the shining blade 

Full easily and fast ; 
And every knight in Arthurs court 

A morsel had to taste. 160 

The boy brought forth a home, 

All golden was the rim : 
Said he, " No cuckolde ever can 

Set mouth unto the brim. 

" No cuckold can this little home 165 

Lift fairly to his head ; 
But or on this, or that side, 

He shall the liquor shed." 

Some shed it on their shoulder, 

Some shed it on their thigh ; 170 

And hee that could not hit his mouth, 

Was sure to hit his eye. 

Thus he that was a cuckold, 

Was known of every man : 
But Cradock lifted easily, 175 

And wan the golden can. 

Thus boar's head, horn and mantle, 
Were this fair couple's meed: 

And all such constant lovers, 

God send them well to speed. 180 

Then down in rage came Guenever, 
And thus could spightful say, 
55 



" Sir Cradock's wife most wrongfully 
Hath borne the prize away. 

" See yonder shameless woman, 185 

That makes herselfe so clean : 

Yet from her pillow taken 

Thrice five gallants have been. 

" Priests, clarkes, and wedded men, 
Have her lewd pillow prest : 190 

Yet she the wonderous prize forsooth 
Must beare from all the rest." 

Then bespake the little boy, 

Who had the same in hold : 
" Chastize thy wife, King Arthur, 195 

Of speech she is too bold : 

" Of speech she is too bold, 

Of carriage all too free ; 
Sir king, she hath within thy hall 

A cuckold made of thee. 200 

" All frolick light and wanton 

She hath her carriage borne : 

And given thee for a kingly crown 

To wear a cuckold's home." 

*.. * 

*** The Rev. Evan Evans, editor of the 
Specimens of Welsh Poetry, 4to., affirmed 
that the story of the " Boy and the Mantle," 
is taken from what is related in some of the 
old Welsh MSS., of Tegan Earfron, one of 
King Arthur's mistresses. She is said to 
have possessed a mantle that would not fit 
any immodest or incontinent woman ; this 
(which the old writers say, was reckoned 
among the curiosities of Britain) is frequently 
alluded to by the old Welsh Bards. 

Carleile, so often mentioned in the Bal- 
lads of King Arthur, the editor once thought 
might probably be a corruption of Caer-leon, 
an ancient British city on the river Uske, in 
Monmouthshire, which was one of the places 
of King Arthur's chief residence ; but he is 
now convinced that it is no other than Car- 
lisle, in Cumberland ; the old English Min- 
strels, being most of them Northern men, 
naturally represented the Hero of Romance 
as residing in the North : and many of the 
places mentioned in the Old Ballads are still 
to be found there; as Tearne- Wad ling, &c. 

Near Penrith is still seen a large circle, 
surrounded by a mound of earth, which re- 
tains the name of Arthur's Round Table. 



432 



THE ANCIENT FRAGMENT OF 



XIX. 



% gtocicni Jragnunt of % SJarriap ai Wit $atoame. 



The Second Poem in the Third Series, 
entitled " The Marriage of Sir Gawaine, 
having; been offered to the reader with large 
conjectural Supplements and Corrections, 
the old Fragment itself is here literally 
and exactly printed from the Editor's folio 
MS. with all its defects, inaccuracies, and 
errata ; that such austere Antiquaries as 
complain that the ancient copies have not 
been always rigidly adhered to may see how 
unfit for publication many of the pieces 
would have been if all the blunders, corrup- 
tions, and nonsense of illiterate Reciters and 
Transcribers had been superstitiously retain- 
ed, without some attempt to correct and 
amend them. 

This Ballad had most unfortunately suffered 
by having half of every leaf in this part of 
the MS. torn away ; and, as about nine stan- 
zas generally occur in the half-page now re- 
maining, it is concluded that the other half 
contained nearly the same number of stanzas. 

Kinge Arthur liues in merry Carleile 
and seemely is to see 
and there he hath w th him Queene Genev r 
y* bride so bright of blee 



And there he hath w th him Queene Genever 

y' bride soe bright in bower 

& all his barons about him stoode 

y* were both stiffe and stowre 



The K. kept a royall Christmasse 
of mirth & great honor 
. . when . . 

[About Nine Stanzas wanting.] 

And bring me word what thing it is 
y e a woman most desire 
this shalbe thy ransome Arthur he sayes 
for He haue noe other hier 



K. Arthur then held vp his hand 
according thene as was the law 
ho tooke his leaue of the baron there 
and homword can he draw 



And when he came to Merry Carlile 

to his chamber he is gone 

And ther came to him his Cozen S r Gawaine 

as he did make his mone 



And there came to him his Cozen S r Gawaine* 
y' was a curteous knight 
why sigh yo n soe sore vnckle Arthur he said 
or who hath done the vnright 



peace o peace thou gentle Gawaine 
y* faire may thee be ffall 
for if thou knew my sighing soe deepe 
thou wold not meruaile att all 



Ffor when I came to tearne wadling 
a bold barron there I fand 
w th a great club vpon his backe 
standing stiffe & strong 



And he asked me wether I wold fight 
or from him I shold be gone 
o* else I must him a ransome pay 
& soe dep't him from 



To fight w th him I saw noe cause 
me thought it was not meet 
for he was stiffe and strong w th all 
his strokes were nothing sweete 



Therfor this is my ransome Gawaine 
I ought to him to pay 
I must come againe as I am sworne 
vpon the Newyeers day 



And I must bring him word what thing it is 
[About Nine Stanzas wanting.] 

Then King Arthur drest him for to ryde 
in one soe rich array 
towards the foresaid Tearne wadling 
y* he might keepe his day 



And as he rode over a more 
bee see a lady where shee sate 



*Sic 



THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 



433 



betwixt an oke and a greene hollen 
she was cladd in red scarlett 



Then there as shold have stood her mouth 

then there was sett her eye 

the other was in her forhead fast 

the way that she might see 



Her nose was crooked & turnd outward 
her mouth stood foule a wry 
a worse formed lady thee shee was 
neuerman saw w th his eye 

To halch vpon him k. Arthur 
this lady was full faine 
but k. Arthur had forgott his lesson 
what he should say againe 

"What knight art thou the lady sayd 
that wilt not speake tome 
of me thou nothing dismayd 
tho I be vgly to see 

for I haue halched yo a courteouslye 
& yo u will not me againe 
yett I may happen S' knight shee said 
to ease thee of thy paine 

Giue thou ease me lady he said 

or helpe me any thing 

thou shalt haue gentle Gawaine my cozen 

& marry him w th a ring 

Why if I helpe thee not thou noble k. Arthur 
of thy owne hearts desiringe 

of gentle Gawaine 

[ About Nine Stanzas wanting.] 



And when he came to the tearne wadling 
the baron there cold he srinde* 
w th a great weapon on his backe 
standinge stifle & stronge 



And then he tooke k. Arthurs letters in his 

hands 
& away he cold them fling 
& then he puld out a good browne sword 
& cryd himselfe a k. 



And he sayd I haue thee & and thy land Ar- 
thur 
to doe as it pleaseth me 
for this is not thy ransome sure 
therfore yeeld thee to me 

* Sic MS. 



And then bespoke him noble Arthur 
& bade him hold his hands 
& give me leave to speake my mind 
in defence of all my land 



the* said as I came over a More 
I see a lady where shee sate 
betweene an oke & a green hollen 
shee was clad in red scarlette 



And she says a woman will haue her will 
& this is all her cheef desire 
doe me right as thou art a baron of sckill 
this is thy ransome & all thy hyer 



He sayes an early vengeance light on her 
she walkes on yonder more 
it was my sister that told thee this 
she is a misshapen hore 



But heer He make mine avow to god 
to do her an euill turne 
for an euer I may thate fowle theefe get 
in a fyer I will her burne 

[About Nine Stanzas wanting.] 

THE SECOND PART. 

Sir Lancelott & s r Steven bold 
they rode w th them that day 
and the formost of the company 
there rode the steward Kay 



Soe did S r Banier & S r Bore 
S r Garrett w th them so gay 
soe did S r Tristeram y l gentle k* 
to the forrest fresh & gay 



And when he came to the greene forrest 
vnderneath a greene holly tree 
their sate that lady in red scarlet 
y' vnseemly was to see 



S r Kay beheld this Ladys face 
& looked vppon her suire 
whosoeuer kisses this lady he sayes 
of his kisse he stands in feare 



S r Kay beheld the lady againe 
& looked vpon her snout 
whosoeuer kisses this lady he saies 
of his kisse he stands in doubt 



* Sic MS. 



434 



THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE.' 



Peace coz. Kay then said S r Gawaine 
amend thee of thy life 
for there is a knight amongst us all 
y' must marry her to his wife 



What wedd her to wiffe then said S r Kay 

in the diuells name anon 

gett me a wiffe where ere I may 

for I had rather be slaine 



Then soome tooke vp their hawkes in hast 
& some tooke vp their hounds 
& some sware they wold not marry her 
for Citty nor for towne 



And then be spake him noble k. Arthur 

& sware there by this day 

for a litle foule sight & misliking 



[About Nine Stanzas wanting.] 

Then shee said choose thee gentle Gawaine 
truth as I doe say 

wether thou wilt haue me in this liknesse 
in the night or else in the day 



And then bespake him Gentle Gawaine 
w th one soe mild of moode 
sayes well I know what I wold say 
god grant it may be good 



To haue thee fowle in the night 
when I w a thee shold play 
yet I had rather if I might 
haue thee fowle in the day 



What when Lords goe w th ther seires* shee 

said 
both to the Ale and wine 
alas then I must hyde my selfe 
I must not goe withinne 



And then bespake him gentle gawaine 
said Lady thats but a skill 
And because thou art my owne lady 
thou shalt haue all thy will 



Then she said blesed be thou gentle Gawaine 

this day y* I thee see 

for as thou see me att this time 

from hencforth I wilbe 



* Sic in MS. pro feires, i. e. Mates. 



My father was an old knight 
& yett it chanced soe 
that he married a younge lady 
y* brought me to this woe 



Shee witched me being a faire young Lady 
to the greene forrest to dwell 
& there I must walke in womans liknesse 
most like a feeind of hell 



She witched my brother to a Carlist B . . . 

[About Nine Stanzas wanting.] 

that looked soe foule & that was wont 
on the wild more to goe 



Come kisse her Brother Kay then said S r Ga- 
waine 
& amend the of thy liffe 
I sweare this is the same lady 
y* I marryed to my wiffe. 



S r Kay kissed that lady bright 
standing vpon his ffeete 
he swore as he was trew knight 
the spice was neuer so sweete 



Well Coz. Gawaine says S r Kay 

thy chance is fallen arright 

for thou hast gotten one of the fairest maids 

I euer saw w th my sight 



It is my fortune said S r Gawaine 
for my Vnckle Arthurs sake 
I am glad as grasse wold be of raine 
great Joy that I may take 



S r Gawaine tooke the lady by the one arme 
S r Kay tooke her by the tother 
they led her straight to k. Arthur 
as they were brother & brother 



K. Arthur welcomed them there all 
& soe did lady Geneuer his queene 
w th all the knights of the round table 
most seemly to be seene 



K. Arthur beheld that lady faire 
that was soe faire & bright 
he thanked christ in trinity 
for S r Gawaine that gentle knight 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 



435 



Soe did the knights both more and lesse 
reioyced all that day 
for the good chance y 4 hapened was 
to S T Gawaine & his lady gay. Ffinis 



In the Fac Simile Copies, after all the care 
which has been taken, it is very possible that 
a redundant e, &c, may have been added or 
omitted. 



%ty Jtoii 0f Hartortjr. 



This ballad, together with that already 
printed, entitled " The Friar of Orders Gray," 
forming what may be considered the whole 
of Bishop Percy's original compositions, is 
here appended as a necessary addition to the 
foregoing collection. 



Dark was the night, and wild the storm, 
And loud the torrent's roar ; 

And loud the sea was heard to dash 
Against the distant shore. 

Musing on man's weak hapless state, 

The lonely Hermit lay ; 
When, lo ! he heard a female voice 

Lament in sore dismay. 

"With hospitable haste he rose, 

And wak'd his sleeping fire ; 
And snatching up a lighted brand, 

Forth hied the rev'rend sire. 

All sad beneath a neighbouring tree 

A beauteous maid he found, 
Who beat her breast, and with her tears 

Bedew'd the mossy ground. 

" weep not, lady, weep not so ; 

Nor let vain fears alarm ; 
My little cell shall shelter thee, 

And keep thee safe from harm." 

" It is not for myself I weep, 

Nor for myself I fear ; 
But for my dear and only friend, 

Who lately left me here : 

"And while some shelt'ring bower he 
sought 

Within this lonely wood, 
Ah ! sore I fear his wandering feet 

Have slipt in yonder flood." 



" ! trust in heaven," the Hermit said, 

" And to my cell repair ! 
Doubt not but I shall find thy friend, 

And ease thee of thy care." 

Then climbing up his rocky stairs, 

He scales the cliff so high ; 
And calls aloud, and waves his light 

To guide the stranger's eye. 

Among the thickets long he winds, 
With careful steps and slow : 

At length a voice return'd his call, 
Quick answering from below : 

" tell me, father, tell me true, 

If you have chanc'd to see 
A gentle maid, I lately left 

Beneath some neighbouring tree : 

" But either I have lost the place, 

Or she hath gone astray : 
And much I fear this fatal stream 

Hath snatch'd her hence away." 

" Praise Heaven, my son," the Hermit said; 

"The lady's safe and well:" 
And soon he join'd the wandering youth, 

And brought him to his cell. 

Then well was seen, these gentle friends, 

They lov'd each other dear : 
The youth he press'd her to his heart ; 

The maid let fall a tear. 

Ah ! seldom had their host, I ween, 

Beheld so sweet a pair : 
The youth was tall, with manly bloom ; 

She, slender, soft, and fair. 

The youth was clad in forest green, 
With bugle-horn so bright : 



43G 



TIIE HERMIT OF WARKWORTII. 



She in a silken robe and scarf, 
Snatch'd up in hasty flight. 

" Sit down, my children," says the sage; 

" Sweet rest your limbs require :" 
Then heaps fresh fuel on the hearth, 

And mends his little fire. 

" Partake," he said, " my simple store, 
Dried fruits, and milk, and curds ;" 

And spreading all upon the board, 
Invites with kindly words. 

" Thanks, father, for thy bounteous fare ;" 

The youthful couple say : 
Then freely ate, and made good cheer, 

And talk'd their cares away. 

" Now say, my children (for perchance 

My counsel may avail), 
What strange adventure brought you here 

Within this lonely dale ?" 

" First tell me, father," said the youth 
"(Nor blame mine eager tongue), 

What town is near ? Whose lands are these ? 
And to what lord belong V 

" Alas ! my son," the Hermit said, 

" Why do I live to say, 
The rightful lord of these domains 

Is banish'd far away ? 

" Ten winters now have shed their snows 

On this my lowly hall, 
Since valiant Hotspur (so the North 

Our youthful lord did call) 

" Against Fourth Henry Bolingbroke 

Led up his northern powers, 
And, stoutly fighting, lost his life 

Near proud Salopia's towers. 

" One son he left, a lovely boy, 

His country's hope and heir ; 
And, oh ! to save him from his foes 

It was his grandsire's care. 

" In Scotland safe he plac'd the child 

Beyond the reach of strife, 
Nor long before the brave old Earl 

At Braham lost his life. 

" And now the Percy name, so long 
Our northern pride and boast, 



Lies hid, alas ! beneath a cloud ; 
Their honours reft and lost. 

" No chieftain of that noble house 
Now leads our youth to arms ; 

The bordering Scots despoil our fields, 
And ravage all our farms. 

" Their halls and casties, once so fair, 

Now moulder in decay ; 
Proud strangers now usurp their lands, 

And bear their wealth away. 

"Not far from hence, where yon full stream 

Runs winding down the lea, 
Fair Warkworth lifts her lofty towers, 

And overlooks the sea. 

" Those towers, alas ! now lie forlorn, 
With noisome weeds o'erspread, 

Where feasted lords and courtly dames, 
And where the poor were fed. 

" Meantime far off, 'mid Scottish hills, 

The Percy lives unknown : 
On strangers' bounty he depends, 

And may not claim his own. 

" might I with these aged eyes 

But live to see him here, 
Then should my soul depart in bliss !" — 

He said, and dropt a tear. 

" And is the Percy still so lov'd 

Of all his friends and thee? 
Then, bless me, father," said the youth, 

" For I, thy guest, am he." 

Silent he gazed, then turn'd aside 

To wipe the tears he shed ; 
And lifting up his hands and eyes, 

Pour'd blessings on his head : 

" Welcome, our dear and much-lov'd lord, 

Thy country's hope and care : 
But who may this young lady be, 

That is so wondrous fair ?" 

" Now, father ! listen to my tale, 
And thou shalt know the truth : 

And let thy sage advice direct 
My inexperienc'd youth. 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 



437 



" In Scotland I've been nobly bred 
Beneath the Regent's* hand, 

In feats of arms and every lore 
To fit me for command. 

"With fond impatience long I burn'd 

My native land to see : 
At length I won my guardian friend,^ 

To yield that boon to me. 

" Then up and down in hunter's garb 

I wander'd as in chase, 
Till in the noble Neville's! house 

I gain'd a hunter's place. 

" Some time with him I liv'd unknown, 

Till I'd the hap so rare 
To please this young and gentle dame, 

That Baron's daughter fair." 

" Now, Percy," said the blushing maid, 

" The truth I must reveal ; 
Souls great and generous, like to thine, 

Their noble deeds conceal. 

" It happen'd on a summer's day, 

Led by the fragrant breeze, 
I wander'd forth to take the air 

Among the greenwood trees. 

" Sudden a band of rugged Scots, 

That near in ambush lay, 
Moss-troopers from the border-side, 

There seiz'd me for their prey. 

" My shrieks had all been spent in vain ; 

But Heaven, that saw my grief, 
Brought this brave youth within my call, 

Who flew to my relief. 

"With nothing but his hunting spear, 

And dagger in his hand, 
He sprung like lightning on my foes, 

And caus'd them soon to stand. 

" He fought till more assistance came: 

The Scots were overthrown : 
Thus freed me, captive, from their bands, 

To make me more his own." 



* Robert Stuart, Duke of Albany. See the continuation 
of Fordun's Scoti-Chronicon, cap. 18, cap. 23, &c. 

t Ralph Neville, first Earl of Westmoreland, who chiefly 
resided at his two castles of Brancepeth and Raby, both in 
the Bishopric of Durham. 



" happy day !" the youth replied : 
" Blest were the wounds I bear ! 

From that fond hour she deign'd to smile, 
And listen to my prayer. 

" And when she knew my name and birth, 

She vow'd to be my bride ; 
But oh! we fear'd (alas, the while!) 

Her princely mother's pride: 

" Sister of haughty Bolingbroke,* 

Our house's ancient foe, 
To me, I thought, a banish'd wight, 

Could ne'er such favour show. 

" Despairing then to gain consent, 

At length to fly with me 
I won this lovely timorous maid ; 

To Scotland bound are we. 

" This evening, as the night drew on, 

Fearing we were pursued, 
We turn'd adown the right-hand path, 

And gain'd this lonely wood : 

" Then lighting from our weary steeds 

To shun the pelting shower, 
We met thy kind conducting hand, 

And reach'd this friendly bower." 

" Now rest ye both," the Hermit said ; 

" Awhile your cares forego : 
Nor, Lady, scorn my humble bed: 

— We'll pass the night below."f 



Lovely smil'd the blushing morn, 
And every storm was fled : 

But lovelier far, with sweeter smile, 
Fair Eleanor left her bed. 

She found her Henry all alone, 
And cheer'd him with her sight ; 

The youth consulting with his friend 
Had watch'd the livelong night. 



* Joan, Countess of Westmoreland, mother of the young 
lady, was daughter of John of Gaunt, and half-sister of 
King Henry IV. 

f Adjoining to the cliff which contains the Chapel of the 
Hermitage, are the remains of a small building, in which 
the Hermit dwelt. This consisted of one lower apartment, 
with a little bedchamber over it, and is now in ruins ; 
whereas the Chapel, cut in the solid rock, is still very en- 
tire and perfect. 



438 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 



"What sweet surprise o'erpower'd her breast! 

Her cheek -what blushes dyed, 
When fondly he besought her there 

To yield to be his bride ! — 

" Within this lonely hermitage 

There is a chapel meet : 
Then grant, dear maid, my fond request 

And make my bliss complete." 

" Henry, when thou deign'st to sue, 

Can I thy suit withstand ? 
When thou, lov'd youth, hast won my heart, 

Can I refuse my hand ? 

" For thee I left a father's smiles, 

And mother's tender care ; 
And whether weal or woe betide, 

Thy lot I mean to share." 

" And wilt thou then, generous maid ! 

Such matchless favour show, 
To share with me, a banish'd wight, 

My peril, pain, or woe ? 

"Now Heaven, I trust, hath joys in store 
To crown thy constant breast : 

For know, fond hope assures my heart 
That we shall soon be blest. J 

" Not far from hence stands Coquet Isle* 

Surrounded by the sea ; 
There dwells a holy friar, well known 

To all thy friends and thee ; 

" 'Tis Father Bernard, so rever'd 

For every worthy deed ; 
To Raby Castle he shall go, 

And for us kindly plead. 

" To fetch this good and holy man 

Our reverend host is gone ; 
And soon, I trust, his pious hands 

Will join us both in one." 

Thus they in sweet and tender talk 

The lingering hours beguile : 
At length they see the hoary sage 

Come from the neighbouring isle. 

With pious joy and wonder mix'd 
He greets the noble pair, 

* In the little island of Coquet, near Warkworth, are 
still seen the ruins of a cell, which belonged to the Bene- 
dictine monks of Tinemouth-Abbey. 



And glad consents to join their hands 
With many a fervent prayer. 

Then strait to Raby's distant walls 

He kindly wends his way: 
Meantime in love and dalliance sweet 

They spend the livelong day. 

And now, attended by their host, 

The Hermitage they view'd, 
Deep-hewn within a craggy cliff, 

And overhung with wood. 

And near a flight of shapely steps, 

All cut with nicest skill, 
And piercing through a stony arch, 

Ran winding up the hill : 

There deck'd with many a flower and herb 

His little garden stands ; 
With fruitful trees in shady rows, 

All planted by his hands. 

Then, scoop'd within the solid rock, 
Three sacred vaults he shows : 

The chief, a chapel, neatly arch'd, 
On branching columns rose. 

Each proper ornament was there, 

That should a chapel grace ; 
The lattice for confession fram'd, 

And holy-water vase. 

O'er either door a sacred text 

Invites to godly fear ; 
And in a little scutcheon hung 

The cross, and crown, and spear. 

Up to the altar's ample breadth 

Two easy steps ascend ; 
And near, a glimmering solemn light 

Two well-wrought windows lend. 

Beside the altar rose a tomb 

All in the living stone ; 
On which a young and beauteous maid 

In goodly sculpture shone. 

A kneeling angel, fairly carved, 
Lean'd hovering o'er her breast ; 

A weeping warrior at her feet ; 
And near to these her crest.* 



* This is a Bull's Head, the crest of the Widdrington fa- 
mily. All the figures, &c here described, are still visible, 
only somewhat effaced with length of time. 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 



439 



The clift, the vault, but chief the tomb 

Attract the wondering pair : 
Eager they ask, " What hapless dame 

Lies sculptur'd here so fair ?" 

The Hermit sigh'd, the Hermit wept, 
For sorrow scarce could speak : 

At length he wip'd the trickling tears 
That all bedew'd his cheek. 

" Alas ! my children, human life 

Is but a vale of woe ; 
And very mournful is the tale 

Which ye so fain would know I" 

THE HERMIT'S TALE. 

Young lord, thy grandsire had a friend 

In days of youthful fame ; 
Yon distant hills were his domains, 

Sir Bertram was his name. 

Where'er the noble Percy fought, 

His friend was at his side ; 
And many a skirmish with the Scots 

Their early valour tried. 

Young Bertram lov'd a beauteous maid, 

As fair as fair might be ; 
The dew-drop on the lily's oheek 

Was not so fair as she. 

Fair Widdrington the maiden's name, 
Yon towers her dwelling-place ;* 

Her sire an old Northumbrian chief, 
Devoted to thy race. 

Many a lord, and many a knight, 

To this fair damsel came ; 
But Bertram was her only choice ; 

For him she felt a flame. 

Lord Percy pleaded for his friend, 

Her father soon consents ; 
None but the beauteous maid herself 

His wishes now prevents. 

But she, with studied fond delays, 

Defers the blissful hour ; 
And loves to try his constancy, 

And prove her maiden power. 

* Widdrington Castle is about five miles south of Wark- 
worth. 

56 



" That heart," she said, " is lightly priz'd, 

Which is too lightly won ; 
And long shall rue that easy maid 

Who yields her love too soon." 

Lord Percy made a solemn feast 

In Alnwick's princely hall; 
And there came lords, and there came 
knights, 

His chiefs and barons all. 

With wassail, mirth, and revelry, 

The castle rang around : 
Lord Percy calPd for song and harp, 

And pipes of martial sound. 

The minstrels of thy noble house, 

• All clad in robes of blue, 
With silver crescents on their arms, 
Attend in order due. 

The great achievements of thy race 
They sung : their high command : 

How valiant Mainfred o'er the seas 
First led his northern band.* 

Brave Galfred next to Normandy 

With venturous Rollo came; 
And, from his Norman castles won, 

Assum'd the Percy name.f 

They sung how in the Conqueror's fleet 
Lord William shipp'd his powers, 

And gain'd a fair young Saxon bride 
With all her lands and towers. J 

Then journeying to the Holy Land, 
There bravely fought and died ; 

But first the silver crescent won, 
Some paynim Soldan's pride. 



* See Dugdale's Baronetage, p. 269, &c. 

t In Lower Normandy are three places of the name of 
Percy: whence the family took the surname of De Percy. 

J William de Percy (fifth in descent from Galfred or 
Geoffery de Percy, son of Mainfred) assisted in the con- 
quest of England, and had given him the large posses- 
sions, in Yorkshire, of Emma de Porte (so the Norman 
writers name her), whose father, a great Saxon lord, had 
been slain fighting along with Harold. This young lady, 
William, from a principle of honour and generosity, mar- 
ried : for having had all her lands hestowed upon him by 
the Conqueror, 'he (to use the words of the old Whitby 
Chronicle) wedded hyr that was very heire to them, in 
discharging of his conscience." See Harl. MSS. 692 (26). 
He died at Mountjoy, near Jerusalem, in the first cru- 



440 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 



They sung how Agnes, beauteous heir, 
The Queen's own brother wed, 

Lord Josceline, sprung from Charlemagne, 
In princely Brabant bred ;* 

How he the Percy name reviv'd, 

And how his noble line, 
Still foremost in their country's cause, 

With godlike ardour shine. 

With loud acclaims the list'ning crowd 

Applaud the master's song, 
And deeds of arms and war became 

The theme of every tongue. 

Now high heroic acts they tell, 

Their perils past recall : 
When, lo ! a damsel young and fair 

Stepp'd forward through the hall. 

She Bertram courteously address'd ; 

And, kneeling on her knee, — 
" Sir knight, the lady of thy love 

Hath sent this gift to thee." 

Then forth she drew a glittering helm, 

Well plaited many a fold ; 
The casque was wrought of temper'd steel, 

The crest of burnish'd gold. 

" Sir knight, thy lady sends thee this, 

And yields to be thy bride, 
When thou hast prov'd this maiden gift 

Where sharpest blows are tried. 

Young Bertram took the shining helm, 
And thrice he kiss'd the same : 

" Trust me, I'll prove this precious casque 
With deeds of noblest fame." 

Lord Percy and his Barons bold, 

Then fix upon a day 
To scour the marches, late opprest, 

And Scottish wrongs repay. 

The knights assembled on the hills 
A thousand horse or more : 



* Agnes de Percy, sole heiress of her house, married Jos- 
celine de Louvaine, youngest son of Godfrey Barbatus, 
Duke of Brabant, and brother of Queen Adeliza, second 
wife of King Henry I. He took the name of Percy, and 
was ancestor of the earls of Northumberland. His son, 
lord Richard de Percy, was one of the twenty-six barons 
nhosen to see the Magna Charta duly observed. 



Brave Widdrington, though sunk in years 
The Percy standard bore. 

Tweed's limpid current soon they pass, 
And range the borders round : 

Down the green slopes of Tiviotdale 
Their bugle-horns resound. 

As when a lion in his den 

Hath heard the hunters' cries, 

And rushes forth to meet his foes ; 
So did the Douglas rise. 

Attendant on their chief's command 

A thousand warriors wait : 
And now the fatal hour drew on 

Of cruel keen debate. 

A chosen troop of Scottish youths 

Advance before the rest ; 
Lord Percy mark'd their gallant mien, 

And thus his friend address'd : 

" Now, Bertram, prove thy lady's helm, 

Attack yon forward band ; 
Dead or alive I'll rescue thee, 

Or perish by their hand." 

Young Bertram bow'd, with glad assent 

And spurr'd his eager steed, 
And calling on his lady's name, 

Rush'd forth with whirlwind speed. 

As when a grove of sapling oaks 

The livid lightning rends ; 
So fiercely 'mid the opposing ranks 

Sir Bertram's sword descends. 

This way and that he drives the steel, 
And keenly pierces through ; 

And many a tall and comely knight, 
With furious force he slew. 

Now closing fast on every side, 
They hem Sir Bertram round : 

But dauntless he repels their rage, 
And deals forth many a wound. 

The vigour of his single arm 
Had well nigh won the field ; 

When ponderous fell a Scottish axe, 
And clave his lifted shield. 

Another blow his temples took, 
And reft his helm in twaine ; 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 



441 



That beauteous helm, his lady's gift ! 
His blood bedew'd the plain. 

Lord Percy saw his champion fall 

Amid th' unequal fight ; 
"And now, my noble friends," he said, 

" Let's save this gallant knight." 

Then rushing in, with stretch'd-out shield, 

He o'er the warrior hung, 
As some fierce eagle spreads her wing 

To guard her callow young. 

Three times they strove to seize their prey, 
Three times they quick retire : 

What force could stand his furious strokes, 
Or meet his martial fire ? 

Now gathering round on every part 

The battle rag'd amain ; 
And many a lady wept her lord, 

That hour untimely slain. 

Percy and Douglas, great in arms, 
There all their courage show'd ; 

And all the field was strew'd with dead, 
And all with crimson flow'd. 

At length the glory of the day 

The Scots reluctant yield, 
And, after wondrous valour shown, 

They slowly quit the field. 

All pale, extended on their shields, 

And weltering in his gore, 
Lord Percy's knights their bleeding friend 

To Wark's fair castle bore.* 

" Well hast thou earn'd my daughter's 
love," 

Her father kindly said ; 
"And she herself shall dress thy wounds, 

And tend thee in thy bed." 

A message went ; no daughter came, 

Fair Isabel ne'er appears ; 
" Beshrew me," said the aged chief, 

" Young maidens have their fears. 

" Cheer up, my son, thou shalt her see, 
So soon as thou canst ride ; 



* Wark Castle, a fortress belonging to the English, and 
of great note in ancient times, stood on the southern banks 
of the River Tweed, a little to the east of Tiviotdale, and 
not far frcm Kelso. It is now entirely destroyed. 



And she shall nurse thee in her bower, 
And she shall be thy bride." 

Sir Bertram at her name reviv'd, 
He bless'd the soothing sound ; 

Fond hope supplied the nurse's care, 
And heal'd his ghastly wound. 

FIT III. 

One early morn, while dewy drops 

Hung trembling on the tree, 
Sir Bertram from his sickbed rose ; 

His bride he would go see. 

A brother he had in prime of youth, 

Of courage firm and keen ; 
And he would tend him on the way, 

Because his wounds were green. 

All day o'er moss and moor they rode, 

By many a lonely tower; 
And 'twas the dew-fall of the night 

Ere they drew near her bower. 

Most drear and dark the castle seem'd 
That wont to shine so bright; 

And long and loud Sir Bertram call'd 
Ere he beheld a light. 

At length her aged nurse arose, 
With voice so shrill and clear, — 

" What wight is this, that calls so loud, 
And knocks so boldly here ? 

" 'Tis Bertram calls, thy lady's love, 

Come from his bed of care: 
All day I've ridden o'er moor and moss 

To see thy lady fair." 

"Now out, alas!" she loudly shriek'd* 

"Alas! how may this be? 
For six long days are gone and past 

Since she set out to thee." 

Sad terror seiz'd Sir Bertram's heart, 
And ready was he to fall ; » 

When now the drawbridge was let down, 
And gates were opened all. 

" Six days, young knight, are past and gone, 

Since she set out to thee ; 
And sure, if no sad harm had happ'd, 

Long since thou wouldst her see. 



442 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 



"For when she heard thy grievous chance, 

She tore her hair, and cried, 
'Alas! I've slain the comeliest knight, 

All through my folly and pride ! 

" 'And now to atone for my sad fault 

And his dear health regain, 
I'll go myself and nurse my love, 

And soothe his bed of pain.' 

" Then mounted she her milk-white steed 

One morn at break of day ; 
And two tall yeomen went with her, 

To guard her on the way." 

Sad terror smote Sir Bertram's heart, 
And grief o'erwhelm'd his mind : 

" Trust me," said he, " I ne'er will rest 
Till I thy lady find." 

That night he spent in sorrow and care ; 

And with sad-boding heart 
Or ever the dawning of the day 

His brother and he depart. 

" Now, brother, we'll our ways divide 

O'er Scottish hills to range ; 
Do thou go north, and I'll go west ; 

And all our dress we'll change. 

" Some Scottish carl hath seiz'd my love, 

And borne her to his den ; 
And ne'er will I tread English ground 

Till she's restor'd again." 

The brothers straight their paths divide, 

O'er Scottish hills to range ; 
And hide themselves in quaint disguise 

And oft their dress they change. 

Sir Bertram, clad in gown of gray, 

Most like a palmer poor, 
To halls and castles wanders round, 

And begs from door to door. 

Sometimes a minstrel's garb he wears, 

With pipe so sweet and shrill ; 
And wends to every tower and town, 
O'er every dale and hill. 

One day as he sat under a thorn, 

All sunk in deep despair, 
An aged pilgrim pass'd him by, 

Who mark'd his face of care. 



"All minstrels yet that ere I saw 

Are full of game and glee ; 
But thou art sad and woe-begone ! 

I marvel whence it be !" 

" Father, I serve an aged lord, 
Whose grief afflicts my mind ; 

His only child is stolen away, 
And fain I would her find." 

" Cheer up, my son ; perchance," he said, 

" Some tidings I may bear: 
For oft when human hopes have fail'd, 

Then heavenly comfort's near. 

" Behind yon hills so steep and high, 

Down in a lowly glen, 
There stands a castle fair and strong, 

Far from the abode of men. 

"As late I chanc'd to crave an alms, 

About this evening hour, 
Methought I heard a lady's voice 

Lamenting in the tower. 

"And when I ask'd what harm had happ'd, 

What lady sick there lay ? 
They rudely drove me from the gate, 

And bade me wend away." 

These tidings caught Sir Bertram's ear, 

He thank'd him for his tale ; 
And soon he hasted o'er the hills, 

And soon he reach'd the vale. 

Then drawing near those lonely towers, 

Which stood in dale so low, 
And sitting down beside the gate, 

His pipes he 'gan to blow. 

" Sir Porter, is thy lord at home, 

To hear a minstrel's song ; 
Or may I crave a lodging here, 

Without offence or wrong ?" 

" My lord," he said, " is not at home, 

To hear a minstrel's song ; 
And, should I lend thee lodging here, 

My life would not be long." 

He play'd again so soft a strain, 
Such power sweet sounds impart, 

He won the churlish porter's ear, 
And mov'd his stubborn heart. 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 



443 



"Minstrel," he said, "thou play'st so sweet, 
Fair entrance thou should'st win ; 

But, alas ! I'm sworn upon the rood 
To let no stranger in. 

" Yet, minstrel, in yon rising cliff 
Thou'lt find a sheltering cave ; 

And here thou shalt my supper share, 
And there thy lodging have." 

All day he sits beside the gate, 
And pipes both loud and clear : 

All night he watches round the walls, 
In hopes his love to hear. 

The first night, as he silent watch'd 

All at the midnight hour, 
He plainly heard his lady's voice 

Lamenting in the tower. 

The second night, the moon shone clear, 

And gilt the spangled dew ; 
He saw his lady through the grate, 

But 'twas a transient view. 

The third night, wearied out, he slept 

'Till near the morning tide ; 
When, starting up, he seiz'd his sword, 

And to the castle hied. ' 

When, lo I he saw a ladder of ropes 

Depending from the wall : 
And o'er the moat was newly laid 

A poplar strong and tall. 

And soon he saw his love descend 

Wrapt in a tartan plaid, 
Assisted by a sturdy youth 

In Highland garb y-clad. 

Amaz'd, confounded at the sight, 

He lay unseen and still ; 
And soon he saw them cross the stream, 

And mount the neighbouring hill. 

Unheard, unknown of all within, 

The youthful couple fly ; 
But what can 'scape the lover's ken, 

Or shun his piercing eye ? 

With silent step he follows close 

Behind the flying pair, 
And saw her hang upon his arm 

With fond familiar air. 



" Thanks, gentle youth," she often said ; 

" My thanks thou well hast won : 
For me what wiles hast thou contriv'd ! 

For me what dangers run ! 

"And ever shall my grateful heart 

Thy services repay :" — 
Sir Bertram would no further hear, 

But cried, " Vile traitor, stay 1 

" Vile traitor ! yield that lady up 1" 
And quick his sword he drew ; 

The stranger turn'd in sudden rage, 
And at Sir Bertram flew. 

With mortal hate their vigorous arms 

Gave many a vengeful blow ; 
But Bertram's stronger hand prevail'd, 

And laid the stranger low. 

" Die, traitor, die !" — A deadly thrust 

Attends each furious word. 
Ah ! then fair Isabel knew his voice 

And rush'd beneath his sword. 

" stop," she cried, " stop thy arm ! 

Thou dost thy brother slay !" — 
And here the Hermit paus'd and wept: 

His tongue no more could say. 

At length he cried, " Ye lovely pair, 

How shall I tell the rest ? 
Ere I could stop my piercing sword, 

It fell, and stabb'd her breast." 

" Wert thou thyself that hapless youth ? 

Ah! cruel fate!" they said. 
The Hermit wept, and so did they : 

They sigh'd ; he hung his head. 

"0 blind and jealous rage," he cried, 
" What evils from thee flow ?" 

The Hermit paus'd ; they silent mourn'd : 
He wept, and they were woe. 

Ah ! when I heard my brother's name 

And saw my lady bleed, 
I rav'd, I wept, I curst my arm 

That wrought the fatal deed. 

In vain I clasp'd her to my breast, 
And clos'd the ghastly wound ; 

In vain I press'd his bleeding corpse, 
And rais'd it from the ground. 



444 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTII. 



My brother, alas ! spake never more, 

His precious life was flown : 
She kindly strove to soothe my pain, 

Regardless of her own. 

" Bertram," she said, " be comforted, 

And live to think on me : 
May we in heaven that union prove, 

"Which here was not to be ! 

" Bertram," she said, " I still was true ; 

Thou only hadst my heart : 
May we hereafter meet in bliss ! 

We now, alas ! must part. 

" For thee I left my father's hall, 

And flew to thy relief, 
"When, lo ! near Cheviot's fatal hills 

I met a Scottish chief, 

" Lord Malcolm's son, whose proffer'd love 

I had refus'd with scorn ; 
He slew my guards, and seiz'd on me 

Upon that fatal morn ; 

"And in these dreary hated walls 

He kept me close confin'd ; 
And fondly sued, and warmly press'd, 

To win me to his mind. 

" Each rising morn increas'd my pain, 
Each night increas'd my fear ! 

When, wandering in this northern garb, 
Thy brother found me here. 

" He quickly form'd the brave design 

To set me, captive, free ; 
And on the moor his horses wait, 

Tied to a neighbouring tree. 

" Then haste, my love, escape away, 

And for thyself provide ; 
And sometimes fondly think on her 

Who should have been thy bride." 

Thus, pouring comfort on my soul, 

Even with her latest breath, 
She gave one parting, fond embrace, 

And clos'd her eyes in death. 

In wild amaze, in speechless woe, 

Devoid of sense, I lay: 
Then sudden, all in frantic mood, 

I meant myself to slay. 



And, rising up in furious haste, 

I seiz'd the bloody brand :* 
A sturdy arm here interpos'd, 

And wrench'd it from my hand. 

A crowd, that from the castle came, 
Had miss'd their lovely ward ; 

And seizing me, to prison bare, 
And deep in dungeon barr'd. 

It chanc'd that on that very morn 
Their chief wus prisoner ta'en ; 

Lord Percy had us soon exchang'd, 
And strove to soothe my pain. 

And soon those honour'd dear remains] 

To England were convey'd ; 
And there within their silent tombs, 

With holy rites, were laid. 

For me, I loath'd my wretched life, 

And long to end it thought ; 
Till time, and books, and holy men, 

Had better counsels taught. 

They rais'd my heart to that pure source 
Whence heavenly comfort flows : 

They taught me to despise the world 
And calmly bear its woes. 

No more the slave of human pride, 

Vain hope, and sordid care, 
I meekly vow'd to spend my life 

In penitence and prayer. 

The bold Sir Bertram, now no more 

Impetuous, haughty, wild : 
But poor and humble Benedict, 

Now lowly, patient, mild. 

My lands I gave to feed the poor, 

And sacred altars raise; 
And here, a lonely anchorite, 

I came to end my days. 

This sweet sequester' d vale I chose, 
These rocks and hanging grove ; 

For oft beside that murmuring stream 
My love was wont to rove. 

My noble friend approv'd my choice ; 
This blest retreat he gave: 



* i. e. eword. 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTn. 



445 



And here I carv'd her beauteous form, 
And scoop'd this holy cave. 

Full fifty winters, all forlorn, 

My life I've linger'd here ; 
And daily o'er this sculptur'd saint 

I drop the pensive tear. 

And thou, dear brother of my heart ! 

So faithful and so true, 
The sad remembrance of thy fate 

Still makes my bosom rue ! 

Yet not unpitied pass'd my life, 

Forsaken or forgot, 
The Percy and his noble sons 

Would grace my lowly cot ; 

Oft the great Earl, from toils of state 
And cumbrous pomp of power, 

Would gladly seek my little cell, 
To spend the tranquil hour. 

But length of life is length of woe ! 

I liv'd to mourn his fall : 
I liv'd to mourn his godlike sons 

And friends and followers all. 

But thou the honours of thy race, 
Lov'd youth, shalt now restore ; 



And raise again the Percy name 
More glorious than before. 



He ceas'd ; and on the lovely pair 

His choicest blessings laid : 
While they, with thanks and pitying tears, 

His mournful tale repaid. 

And now what present course to take 

They ask the good old sire ; 
And, guided by his sage advice, 

To Scotland they retire. 

Meantime their suit such favour found 

At Raby's stately hall, 
Earl Neville and his princely spouse 

Now gladly pardon all. 

She, suppliant at her nephew's* throne 

The royal grace implor'd : 
To all the honours of his race 

The Percy was restor'd. 

The youthful Earl still more and more 
Admir'd his beauteous dame: 

Nine noble sons to him she bore, 
All worthy of their name. 



* Bang Henry V. Anno 1414. 



.toenfca. 



In the following additions the Editor has 
endeavoured to form a selection that shall 
be agreeable and interesting to the general 
reader, and not unsatisfactory to the antiqua- 
ry or the scholar. 

It has been an essential part of his design 
to collect only the ballads that appeared most 
worthy of preservation, and not to reprint 
those which have no stronger recommendation 
than their rarity — rejecting none because they 
are sufficiently known — and accepting none 
because they are merely scarce. He has 
omitted no opportunities of consulting avail- 
able sources of information, whether acces- 
sible to all readers or to be obtained only by 



patient industry and careful search. It will be 
perceived he has not modernized the orthog- 
raphy, believing that these " old and antique 
Songs," will be most readily welcomed in 
their ancient dress. 

" The garb our Muses wore in former years." 

His leading purpose was, so to arrange 
these pieces as to obtain variety of style 
without regard to the period at which they 
were written, or the sources in which they 
originated — prefacing each by such explana- 
tory remarks as should communicate all the 
information he was able to obtain concerning 
its history. 



fflbitt JflflVs Jmifr anft §«riaL 



We copy this ballad from Ritson's " Col- 
lection of all the Ancient Poems, Songs, and 
Ballads, now extant, relative to that celebrated 
English Outlaw, Robin Hood." A brief notice 
of him has been already given ; the notes we 
here introduce concern exclusively his "Death 
and Burial:" for the "facts" concerning which 
we are indebted to the indefatigable collector, 
who seems to have gathered together, by im- 
mense labour, every item of information that 
exists upon the subject. The old chronicles 
are somewhat circumstantial touching the 
final exit of the hero. " The king att last," 
says the Harleian MS., " sett furth a procla- 
mation to have him apprehended," &c. 
Grafton, after having told us that he " prac- 
tised robberyes, &c," adds, " The which 
beyng certefyed to the king, and he, beyng 
greatly offended therewith, caused his pro- 
clamation to be made that whosoever would 
bryng him quicke or dead, the king would 
geve him a great summe of money, as by the 



recordes in the Exchequer is to be seene : 
But of this promise no man enjoyed any 
benefite ;" for as long as he had his " bent 
bow in his hand," it was scarcely safe 
to meddle with the "archer good." Time, 
however, subdued his strength and spirit. 
Finding the infirmities of old age increase 
upon him, and being " troubled with a 
sicknesse," according to Grafton, he " came 
to a certain nonry in Yorkshire called 
Bircklies [Kircklies], where desiryng to be 
let blood, he was betrayed and bled to death." 
The Sloane MS. says, that " [being] dystem- 
pered with cowld and age, he had great payne 
in his lymmes, his bloud being corrupted ; 
therfore, to be eased of his payne by letting 
bloud, he repayred to the priores of Kyr- 
kesly, which some say was his aunt, a woman 
very skylful in physique & surgery ; who, 
perceyving him to be Robyn Hood, & way- 
ing howe fel an enimy he was to religious 
persons, toke reveng of him for her owne 

(446) 



ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND BURIAL. 



447 



howse and all others by letting him bleed to 
death. It is also sayd that one sir Roger of 
Doncaster, bearing grudge to Robyn for some 
injury, incyted the priores, with whome he 
was very familiar, in such a manner to dis- 
patch him." The Harleian MS., after men- 
tioning the proclamation " set furth to have 
him apprehended," adds, " at which time it 
happened he fell sick at a nunnery in York- 
shire called Birkleys [Kirkleys] ; & desiring 
there to be let blood, hee was betrayed & 
made bleed to death." 

According to the Sloane MS. the prioress, 
after "letting him bleed to death, buryed 
him under a great stone by the hywayes 
syde:" which is agreeable to the account in 
Grafton's Chronicle, where it is said that 
after his death, " the prioresse of the same 
place caused him to be buryed by the high- 
way side, where he had used to rob and 
spoyle those that passed that way. And 
vpon his grave the sayde prioresse did lay a 
very fayre stone, wherein the names of Robert 
Hood, William of Goldesborough, and others 
were graven. And the cause why she buryed 
him there was, for that the common passen- 
gers and travailers, knowyng and seeyng him 
there buryed, might more safely and without 
feare take their jorneys that way, which 
they durst not do in the life of the sayd out- 
lawes. And at eyther ende of the sayd tombe 
was erected a crosse of stone, which is to be 
seene there at this present." 

There appears to be reasonable ground for 
the belief that Robin Hood was thus treach- 
erously dealt with. The circumstance is dis- 
tinctly referred to in the ballad entitled " A 
Lytell Geste of Robine Hode," — a long met- 
rical narratfon, consisting of eight fyttes or 
cantos, and containing no fewer than four 
hundred and fifty stanzas. It bears conclu- 
sive evidence of antiquity, and may be consi- 
dered at least as old as the time of Chaucer. 

The ballad — "Robin Hood's Death and 
Burial" — although its style is comparatively 
modern, is clearly based upon one much 
older: — it contains passages of too "genuine" 
a character to have been the production of an 
age much later than that in which flourished 
the hero of the grene-wode. 

The reader will, no doubt, desire to know 

something concerning the career of Robin's 

famous lieutenant, "Little John." "There 

standeth," as Stanihurst relates, "in Ostman- 

57 



towne greene (now in the centre of the city 
of Dublin), an hillocke, named Little John 
his Shot. The occasion," he says, "pro- 
ceeded of this. In the yeere one thousand 
one hundred foure score and nine, there 
ranged three robbers and outlaws in England, 
among which Robert Hood and Little John 
weere cheefeteins, of all theeves doubtlesse 
the most courteous. Robert Hood being be- 
trayed at a nunrie in Scotland called Brick- 
lies, the remnant of the crue was scattered, 
and everie man forced to shift for himselfe. 
Whereupon Little John was faine to flee the 
realme by sailing into Ireland, where he so- 
journed for a fewdaies at Dublin. The citi- 
zens being doone to understand the wander- 
ing outcast to be an excellent archer, request- 
ed him hartilie to trie how far he co"uld shoot 
at random ; who yeelding to their behest, 
stood on the bridge of Dublin, and shot to 
that mole hill, leaving behind him a monu- 
ment, rather by his posteritie to be woonder- 
ed, than possiblie by anie man living to be 
counterscored. But as the fepaire of so no- 
torious a champion to anie countrie would 
soone be published, so his abode could not 
be long concealed : and therefore to eschew 
the danger of [the] lawes, he fled into Scot- 
land, where he died at a towne or village 
called Moravie." 

When Robin Hood and Little John, 

Went o'er yon bank of broom, 
Said Robin Hood to Little John, 

We have shot for many a pound: 

But I am not able to shoot one shot more, 5 

My arrows will not flee ; 
But I have a cousin lives down below, 

Please God, she will bleed me.] 

Now Robin is to fair Kirkley gone, 
As fast as he can win ; 10 

But before he came there, as we do hear, 
He was taken very ill. 

And when that he came to fair Kirkley-hall, 

He knock'd all at the ring, 
But none was so ready as his cousin herself 

For to let bold Robin in. 16 

" Will you please to sit down, Cousin Robin," 
she said, 
" And drink some beer with me ?" 



448 



ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND BURIAL. 



"No, I will neither eat nor drink, 
Till I am blooded by thee." 



20 



"Well, I have a room, cousin Robin," she 
said, 

" Which you did never see, 
And if you please to walk therein, 

You blooded by me shall be." 

She took him by the lilly-white hand, 25 

And let him to a private room, 
And there she blooded bold Robin Hood, 

Whilst one drop of blood would run. 

She blooded him in the vein of the arm, 
And locked him up in the room ; 30 

There did he bleed all the live-long day, 
Untill the next day at noon.* 

He then bethought him of a casement door, 

Thinking for to be gone, 
He was so weak he could not leap, 35 

Nor he could not get down. 

He then bethought him of his bugle-horn, 
Which hung low down to his knee, 

He set his horn unto his mouth, 
And blew out weak blasts three. 40 

Then Little John, when hearing him, 

As he sat under the tree, 
" I fear my master is near dead, 

He blows so wearily." 

* The following stanzas are from the poem referred to in 
the Introduction — " A Lytell Geste of Bobyn Hode :" — 

"Yet he was beguiled, I wys, 

Through a wycked woman, 
The pryoresse of Kyrkesly, 

That nye wai of his kynne. 

" They toke togyder theyr counsell 

Kobyn Hode for to sle, 
And how they myght best do that dede, 

His banis for to be." 



Then Little John to fair Kirkley is gone, 45 

As fast as he can dree ; 
But when he came to Kirkley-hall, 

He broke locks two or three : 



Untill he came bold Robin to, 
Then he fell on his knee ; 

"A boon, a boon," cries Little John, 
" Master, I beg of thee." 



50 



" What is that boon," quoth Robin Hood, 
" Little John, thou begs of me?" 

" It is to burn fair Kirkley-hall, 55 

And all their nunnery." 

" Now nay, now nay," quoth Robin Hood, 

" That boon I'll not grant thee ; 
I never ' hurt' woman in all my life, 

Nor man in woman's company. 60 

" I never hurt fair maid in all my time, 

Nor at my end shall it be ; 
But give me my bent bow in my hand, 

And a broad arrow I'll let flee ; 
And where this arrow is taken up, 65 

There shall my grave digg'd be. 

" Lay me a green sod under my head, 

And another at my feet ; 
And lay my bent bow by my side, 

Which was my music sweet ; 70 

And make my grave of gravel and green, 

Which is most right and meet. 

" Let me have length and breadth enough, 
With a green sod under my head ; 

That they may say, when I am dead, 75 

Here lies bold Robin Hood." 

These words they readily promis'd him, 

Which did bold Robin please': 
And there they buried bold Robin Hood, 

Near to the fair Kirkleys. 80 



fflrft Sflttlh. 



This ballad is the composition of John 
Leyden : it was first published in the " Min- 
strelsy of the Scottish Border," and subse- 
quently, in the collected works of the estima- 



ble and accomplished writer. The hero of 
the story is supposed to be William Lord 
Soulis, who was of royal descent, and who 
entered, with several other nobles of rank, 



LORD SOULIS. 



449 



into a conspiracy against Robert de Bruce, 
the object of which was the elevation of Soulis 
to the Scottish throne.* 

"Local tradition," writes Sir Walter Scott, 
"more faithful to the popular sentiment than 
history, has recorded the character of the 
chief, and attributed to him many actions 
which seem to correspond with that character. 
His portrait is by no means flattering; uniting 
every quality which could render strength 
formidable, and cruelty detestable. Com- 
bining prodigious bodily strength with cru- 
elty, avarice, dissimulation, and treachery, is 
it surprising that a people, who attributed 
every event of life, in a great measure, to the 
interference of good or evil spirits, should 
have added to such a character the mj'stical 
horrors of sorcery? Thus, he is represented 
as a cruel tyrant and sorcerer ; constantly 
employed in oppressing his vassals, harassing 
his neighbours, and fortifying his Castle of 
Hermitage against the King of Scotland ; for 
which purpose he employed all means, human 
and infernal ; invoking the fiends by his in- 
cantations, and forcing his vassals to drag 
materials, like beasts of burden. Tradition 
proceeds to relate, that the Scottish King, 
irritated by reiterated complaints, peevishly 
exclaimed to the petitioners, ' Boil him if you 
please, but let me hear no more of him.' 
Satisfied with this answer, they proceeded 
with the utmost haste to execute the commis- 
sion ; which they accomplished by boiling 
him alive on the Nine-stane Rig, in a cauldron 
said to have been long preserved at Skelf-hill, 
a hamlet betwixt Hawick and the Hermitage. 
Messengers, it is said, were immediately des- 
patched by the King, to prevent the effects 



* One of his accomplices, David de Brechin, was execu- 
ted. He was nephew to the king, and his only crime was 
his having concealed the treason in which he disdained to 
participate. " As the people thronged to the execution of 
the gallant youth, they were hitterly rebuked by Sir In- 
gram de Umfraville, an English or Norman knight, then a 
favourite follower of Robert Bruce. 'Why press you,' 
said he, ' to see the dismal catastrophe of so generous a 
knight? I have seen ye throng as eagerly around him to 
share his bounty, as now to behold his death.' With these 
words he turned from the scene of blood, and, repairing to 
the king, craved leave to sell his Scottish possessions, and 
to retire from the country. ' My heart,' said Umfraville, 
'will not, for the wealth of the world, permit me to dwell 
any longer where I have seen such a knight die by the 
hands of the executioner.' With the king's leave, he 
interred the body of David de Brechin, sold his lands, 
and left Scotland for ever. The story is beautifully told by 
Barbour, Book 19th." 



of such a hasty declaration : but they only 
arrived in time to witness the conclusion of 
the ceremony. The Castle of Hermitage, 
unable to support the load of iniquity which 
had been long accumulating within its walls, 
is supposed to have partly sunk beneath the 
ground ; and its ruins are still regarded by 
the peasants with peculiar aversion and ter- 
ror. The door of the chamber, where Lord 
Soulis is said to have held his conferences 
with the evil spirits, is supposed to be 
opened once in seven years, by that demon 
to which, when he left the castle never to 
return, he committed the keys, by throwing 
them over his left shoulder, and desiring it to 
keep them till his return. Into this chamber, 
which is really the dungeon of the castle, the 
peasant is afraid to look ; for such is the active 
malignity of its inmate, that a willow inserted 
at the chinks of the door, is found peeled, or 
stripped of its bark, when drawn back. The 
Nine-Stane Rig, where Lord Soulis was boiled, 
is a declivity, about one mile in breadth and 
four in length, descending upon the Water of 
Hermitage, from the range of hills which 
separate Liddesdale and Teviotdale. It de- 
rives its name from one of those circles of 
large stones, which are termed Druidical, 
nine of which remained to a late period. 
Five of these stones are still visible ; and two 
are particularly pointed out, as those which 
supported the iron bar upon which the fatal 
cauldron was suspended." 

The ruins of the Castle of Hermitage still 
exist ; and still, according to Stephen Oliver — 
" Rambles in Northumberland, and on the 
Scottish Border," — the neighbouring pea- 
santry whisper of the evil spirit believed to 
be confined there, and who, after locking the 
door of the dungeon, had thrown the key 
over his shoulder into the stream. The author 
also states that the cauldron, the muckle pot 
in which Soulis was reported to have been 
boiled, is an old kail-pot, of no very extraor- 
dinary size, which was purchased by some 
of the rebel army in 1715. The castle is now 
the property of the Duke of Buccleugh. It 
was, in 1546, the residence of the Earl of 
Bothwell; and here Queen Mary is said to 
have visited him, riding from Jedburg to 
Hermitage, and back again, in one day. The 
Earl was lying ill of a wound received from 
John Elliot of the Park, a desperate free- 
booter, whom he had attempted to apprehend. 



450 



LORD SOULIS. 



Sir Walter Scott considers that the idea of 
Lord Soulis' familiar was derived from the 
curious story of the " Spirit Orthone and the 
Lord of Corasse," which he prints in a note 
to the hallad, " in all its Gothic simplicity, as 
translated from Froissart, by the Lord of 
Berners." Orthone enters the service of the 
knight: — 

" So this spyrite Orthone loved so the 
knyght, that oftentymes he would come and 
vysyte him, while he lay in his bedde aslepe, 
and outher pull him by the eare, or els stryke 
at his chambre dore or windowe. And whan 
the knyght awoke, than he would saye, ' Or- 
thone, lat me slepe.' ' Nay,' quod Orthone, 
' that I will nat do, tyll I have shewed thee 
such tydinges as are fallen a-late.' The ladye, 
the knyghtes wife, wolde be sore afrayed, that 
her heer wald stand up, and hyde herself 
under the clothes. Than the knyght wolde 
saye, ' Why, what tydinges hast thou brought 
me ?' Quod Orthone, ' I am come out of 
England, or out of Hungry, or some other 
place, and yesterday I came hens, and such 
things are fallen, or such other.' " 

The connexion between them was broken 
by the knight unwisely desiring to see the 
form of the spirit, with whose voice he had 
become familiar. Orthone appeared before 
him in the semblance of " a leane and yvell 
favoured sow." The knight set his hounds 
upon it, at which the spirit took offence, and 
never afterwards came to the " bedde syde" 
of the lord. 

" The formation of ropes of sand, according 
to popular tradition, was a work of such 
difficulty, that it was assigned by Michael 
Scott to a number of spirits, for which it was 
necessary for him to find some interminable 
employment. Upon discovering the futility 
of their attempts to accomplish the work as- 
signed, they petitioned their taskmaster to be 
allowed to mingle a few handfuls of barley- 
chaff with the sand. On his refusal, they 
were forced to leave untwisted the ropes 
which they had shaped. Such is the tradi- 
tionary hypothesis of the vermicular ridges 
?f the sand on the shore of the sea." 

Lord Soulis he sat in Hermitage Castle, 
And beside him Old Redcap sly ; — 

" Now, tell me, thou sprite, who art meikle of 
might, 
The death that I must die ?"— 



" While thou shalt bear a charmed life, 5 

And hold that life of me, 
'Gainst lance and arrow, sword and knife, 

I shall thy warrant be. 

" Nor forged steel, nor hempen band, 

Shall e'er thy limbs confine, 10 

Till threefold ropes of sifted sand 
Around thy body twine. 

"If danger press fast, knock thrice on the 
chest, 

With rusty padlocks bound ; 
Turn away your eyes, when the lid shall rise, 

And listen to the sound." 16 

Lord Soulis he sat in Hermitage Castle, 

And Redcap was not by : 
And he called on a page, who was witty and 
sage, 

To go to the barmkin high. 20 

"And look thou east, and look thou west, 

And quickly come tell to me, 
What troopers haste along the waste, 

And what may their livery be." 

He looked over fell, and he looked o'er flat, 
But nothing, I wist, he saw, 26 

Save a pyot on a turret that sat 
Beside a corby craw. 

The page he looked at the skrieh of day, 
But nothing, I wist, he saw, 30 

Till a horseman gray, in the royal array, 
Rode down the Hazel-shaw. 

" Say, why do you cross o'er moor and moss ?" 

So loudly cried the page ; 
" I tidings bring, from Scotland's King, 35 

To Soulis of Hermitage. 

" He bids me tell that bloody warden, 

Oppressor of low and high, 
If ever again his lieges complain, 

The cruel Soulis shall die." 40 

By traitorous sleight they seized the knight, 

Before he rode or ran, 
And through the keystone of the vault 

They plunged him both horse and man. 



O May she came, and May she gaed, 
By Goranberry green ; 



45 



LORD SOULIS. 451 


And May she was the fairest maid 




Far from relief, they seized the chief; 


That ever yet was seen. 




His men were far away ; 90 
Through Hermitage slack they sent him back 


May she came, and May she gaed, 




To Soulis' castle gray ; 


By Goranberry tower ; 


50 


Syne onward fure for Branxholm tower 


And who was it but cruel Lord Soulis 




Where all his merry-men lay. 94 


That carried her from her bower ? 




" Now, welcome, noble Branxholm's heir ! 


He brought her to his castle gray, 




Thrice welcome," quoth Soulis, " to me ! 


By Hermitage's side ; 




Say, dost thou repair to my castle fair, 


Says — " Be content, my lovely May, 


55 


My wedding guest to be ? 


For thou shalt be my bride." 




And lovely May deserves, per fay, 
A bride-man such as thee !" 100 


With her yellow hair, that glittered fair, 






She dried the trickling tear ; 




And broad and bloody rose the sun, 


She sighed the name of Branxholm's heii 




And on the barmkin shone, 


The youth that loved her dear. 


'go 


When the page was aware of Red Ringan 
there, 


" Now, be content, my bonny May, 




Who came riding all alone. 


And take it for your hame ; 






Or ever and aye shall ye rue the day 




To the gate of the tower Lord Soulis he 


You heard Young Branxholm's name. 




speeds, 105 
As he lighted at the wall, 


' ' O'er Branxholm tower, ere the morning hour, 


Says — " Where did ye stable my stalwart 


When the lift is like lead sae blue, 


66 


steeds, 


The smoke shall roll white on the weary 
night, 
And the flame shall shine dimly through." 


And where do they tarry all ?" 


" We stabled them sure, on the Tarras Muir ; 






We stabled them sure," quoth he — 110 


Syne he's ca'd on him Ringan Red, 




"Before we could cross the quaking moss 


A sturdy kemp was he ; 


70 


They all were lost but me." 


From friend, or foe, in Border feid, 






Who never a foot would flee. 




He clenched his fist, and he knocked on the 
chest, 


Red Ringan sped, and the spearmen led 




And he heard a stifled groan ; 


Up Goranberry slack ; 




And at the third knock each rusty lock 115 


Ay, many a wight, unmatched in fight, 


75 


Did open one by one. 


Who never more came back. 




He turned away his eyes as the lid did rise, 


And bloody set the westering son, 




And he listened silentlie ; 


And bloody rose he up ; 




And he heard breathed slow, in murmurs low, 


But little thought young Branxholm's heir 


" Beware of a coming tree !" 120 


Where he that night should sup. 


80 


In muttering sound the rest was drowned, 


He shot the roebuck on the lee, 




No other word heard he ; 


The dun deer on the law ; 




But slow as it rose, the lid did close 


The glamour sure was in his ee 




With the rusty padlocks three. 


When Ringan nigh did draw. 




***** 


O'er heathy edge, through rustling sedge, 


85 


Now rose with Branxholm's ae brother 125 


He sped till day was set ; 




The Teviot, high and low ; 


And he thought it was his merry men true, 


Bauld Walter by name, of meikle fame, 


When he the spearmen met. 




For none could bend his bow. 



452 



LORD SOULIS. 



O'er glen and glade, to Soulis there sped 
The fame of his array, 130 

And that Teviotdale would soon assail 
His towers and castle gray. 

With clenched fist, he knocked on the chest, 

And again he heard a groan ; 
And he raised his eyes as the lid did rise, 

But answer heard he none. 13G 

The charm was broke, when the spirit spoke, 

And it murmured sullenlie, — 
" Shut fast the door, and for evermore 

Commit to me the key. 140 

" Alas ! that ever thou raisedst thine eyes, 

Thine eyes to look on me ! 
Till seven years are o'er, return no more, 

For here thou must not be." 

Think not but Soulis was wae to yield 145 

His warlock chamber o'er : 
He took the keys from the rusty lock, 

That never were ta'en before. 

He threw them o'er his left shoulder, 

With meikle care and pain'; 150 

And he bade it keep them fathoms deep, 
Till he returned again. 

And still, when seven years are o'er, 

Is heard the jarring sound ; 
When slowly opes the charmed door 155 

Of the chamber under ground. 

And some within the chamber door 

Have cast a curious eye ; 
But none dare tell, for the spirits in hell, 

The fearful sights they spy. 160 



When Soulis thought on his merry-men now, 

A woful wight was he ; 
Says — "Vengeance is mine, and I will not 
repine, 

But Branxholm's heir shall die ! 

Says — " What would you do, young Branx- 
holm, 165 

Gin ye had me, as I have thee !" — 
" I would take you to the good greenwood 

And gar your ain hand wale the tree." 



" Now shall thine ain hand wale the tree, 
For all thy mirth and meikle pride ; 170 

And May shall choose, if my love she refuse, 
A scrog bush thee beside." 

They carried him to the good greenwood 
Where the green pines grew in a row : 

And they heard the cry, from the branches 
high, 175 

Of the hungry carrion crow. 

They carried him on from tree to tree, 

The spiry boughs below ; 
" Say, shall it be thine, on the tapering pine 

To feed the hooded crow ?' 180 

" The fir-tops fall by Branxholm wall, 
When the night blast stirs the tree, 

And it shall not be mine to die on the pine 
I loved in infancie." 

Young Branxholm turned him and oft looked 
back, 185 

And aye he passed from tree to tree ; 
Young Branxholm peep'd, and puirly spake, 

" O sic a death is no for me !" 

And next they passed the aspin gray, 
Its leaves were rustling mournfullie ; 190 

" Now choose thee, choose thee, Branxholm 
gay! 
Say, wilt thou never choose the tree ?" — 

" More dear to me is the aspin gray, 
More dear than any other tree ; 195 

For, beneath the shade that its branches made, 
Have pass'd the vows of my love and me." 

Young Branxholm peep'd, and puirly spake, 

Until he did his ain men see, 
With witches' hazel in each steel cap, 

In scorn of Soulis' gramarye ; 200 

Then shoulder-height for glee he lap, — 

" Methinks I spye a coming tree !" — 

"Ay, many may come, but few return :" 
Qu6' Soulis, the lord of gramarye ; 

" No warrior's hand in fair Scotland 205 
Shall ever dint a wound on me !" — 

" Now, by my sooth," quo' bold Walter, 
" If that be true we soon shall see." — 

His bent bow he drew, and his arrow was 
true, 
But never a wound or scar had he. 210 



LORD SOULIS. 



453 



Then up bespake him true Thomas, 

He was the lord of Ersyltoun ; 
" The wizard's spell no steel can quell, 

Till once your lances bear him down." — 

They bore him down with lances bright, 215 
But never a wound or scar had he ; 

With hempen bands they bound him tight, 
Both hands and feet, on the Nine-stane 
lee. 

That wizard accurst, the bands he burst : 
They mouldered at his magic spell ; 220 

And neck and heel, in the forged steel, 
They bound him against the charms of 
hell. 

That wizard accurst, the bands he burst : 
No forged steel his charms could bide : 

Then up bespake him true Thomas, 225 

" We'll bind him yet, whate'er betide." 

The black spae-book from his breast he took, 
Impressed with many a warlock spell, 

And the book it was wrote by Michael Scott, 
Who held in awe the fiends of hell. 230 

They buried it deep, where his bones they 
sleep, 

That mortal man might never it see ; 
But Thomas did save it from the grave 

When he returned from Faerie. 234 

The black spae-book from his breast he took, 
And turned the leaves with curious hand ; 

No ropes, did he find, the wizard could bind, 
But threefold ropes of sifted sand. 

They sifted the sand from the Nine-stane 
burn, 

And shaped the ropes sae curiouslie ; 240 
But the ropes would neither twist nor twine 

For Thomas true and his gramarye. 

The black spae-book from his breast he took, 
And again he turn'd it with his hand 



And he bade each lad of Teviot add 
The barley chaff to the sifted sand. 



245 



The barley chaff to the sifted sand 
They added still by handfuls nine : 

But Redcap sly unseen was by, 

And the ropes would neither twist nor 
twine. 250 

And still beside the Nine-stane burn, 
Ribbed like the sand at mark of sea, 

The ropes that would not twist nor turn 
Shaped of the sifted sand you see. 

The black spae-book true Thomas he took, 
Again its magic leaves he spread ; 256 

And he found that to quell the powerful 
spell, 
The wizard must be boiled in lead.* 

On a circle of stones they placed the pot, 
On a circle of stones but barely nine ; 260 

They heated it red and fiery hot, 

Till the burnished brass did glimmer and 
shine. 

They roll'd him up in a sheet of lead, 
A sheet of lead for a funeral pall ; 

They plunged him in the cauldron red, 265 
And melted him, lead, bones, and all. 

At the Skelf-hill, the cauldron still 
The men of Liddesdale can show ; 

And on the spot, where they boiled the pot, 
The spreat and the deer-hair ne'er shall 



grow. 



270 



* " The tradition concerning the death of Lord Soulis," 
writes Sir Walter Scott, " is not without a parallel in the real 
history of Scotland." Mellville, of Glenbure, Sheriff of the 
Mearns, was detested by the barons of his country. Rei- 
terated complaints of his conduct haying been made to 
James I., the monarch answered, in a moment of un- 
guarded impatience, " Sorrow gin the sheriff were sodden, 
and supped in broo !" The words were construed literally. 
The barons prepared a fire and a boiling cauldron, intc 
which they plunged the unlucky sheriff. 



454 



THE FRERE AND THE BO YE. 



%\}t frttt m\b % §ojre: gl Ucrg fett 



This well-known tale is furnished, in its 
present dress, by a copy in the public library 
of the University of Cambridge, " Enprynted 
at London in Flete strete at the sygne of the 
Bonne by "Wynkyn de Worde ;" compared 
with a later edition in the Bodleian library, 
" Imprinted at London at the long shop 
adionyning vnto Saint Mildreds Church in 
the Pultrie by Edward Aide ;" both in quarto 
and black-letter, and of singular rarity, no 
duplicate of either being known to exist.* 
There is, indeed, a very old, though at the 
same time a most vulgar and corrupted copy 
extant in the first of those libraries (MSS. 
More, Ee. 4, 35), under the title of " The 
Cheylde and his step-dame," of which, besides 
that almost every line exhibits a various 
reading, the concluding stanzas are entirely 
different, and have, on that account, been 
thought worth preserving. But the most an- 
cient copy of all would probably have been 
one in the Cotton library, if the volume which 
contained it had not unfortunately perished, 
with many things of greater importance, in 
the dreadful fire which happened in that no- 
ble repository, anno 1731. Vide Smith's 
Catalogue, Vitellius D. XII. 

From the mention made in verse 429 of the 
city of " Orlyaunce," and the character of 
the "Oflycyal," it maybe conjectured that 
this poem is of French extraction ; and, in- 
deed, it is not at all improbable that the ori- 
ginal is extant in some collection of old Fa- 
bliaux. A punishment similar to that of the 
good wife in this story, appears to have been 
inflicted on the widow of a St. Gengulph, for 
presuming to question the reality of her hus- 
band's miracles. See Heywood's History of 
"Women, p. 196. 

God that dyed for vs all, 

And dranke both eysell and gall 

Brynge vs out of bale, 

And gyue them good lyfe and longe 

That lysteneth to my songe, 5 

Or tendeth to my tale. 



* There was once a copy of one or other of the above edi- 
tions, or some different impression, with divers other cu- 
rious pieces, in the printed library of Anthony h Wood 
(No. 6G) ; but the article, with others of the like nature, 
appears to have been clandestinely taken out. 



There dwelled an husbonde in my countre 

That had wyues thre, 

By processe of tyme, 

By the fyrst wyfe a sone he had, 10 

That was a good sturdy ladde, 

And an happy hyne. 

His fader loued hym weel, 

So dyde his moder neuer a dele, 

I tell you as I thinke ; 15 

All she thought was lost, by the rode, 

That dyde the lytell boye ony good, 

Other mete or drynke. 

And yet y wys it was but badde, 

And therof not halfe ynough he had, 20 

But euermore of the worste : 

Therfore euyll mote she fare, 

For euer she dyde the lytell boye care, 

As ferforth as she dorste. 

The good wyfe to her husbonde gan saye, 

I wolde ye wolde put this boye awaye, 26 

And that ryght soone in haste ; 

Truly he is a cursed ladde, 

I wolde some other man hym had, 

That wolde hym better chaste. 30 

Then sayd the good man agayne, 

Dame, I shall to the sayne, 

He is but tender of age ; 

He shall abyde with me this yere, 

Tyll he be more strongere, 35 

For to wynne better wage. 

We haue a man, a stoute freke, 

That in the felde kepeth our nete, 

Slepynge all the daye, 

He shall come home, so god me shelde, 40 

And the boye shall into the felde, 

To kepe our beestes yf he may. 

Then sayd the wyfe, verament, 

Therto soone I assent, 

For that me thynketh moost nedy. 45 

On the morowe whan it was daye, 

The lytell boye wente on his waye, 

To the felde full redy ; 

Of no man he had no care, 

But sung, hey howe, awaye the mare,* 50 

And made ioye ynough ; 

Forth he wente, truly to sayne, 

*This seems to have been the beginning or title of some 
old ballad. Maystress Tyll of Brentford takes notice of it 
in her " Testament," 4to. b. 1. 

" Ah syrra, mary a way the mare." 



THE FRERE AND THE BOYE. 


455 


Tyll he came to the playne, 




As I haue sayd before. 


105 


Hys dyner forth he drough : 




The lytell boye on hym lough, 




Whan he sawe it was but bad, 


55 


And sayd, syr, I haue ynough, 




Ful lytell lust therto he had, 




I wyll desyre no more. 




But put it vp agayne ; 




The olde man sayd, my trouth I plyg 


it, 


Therfore he was not to wyte, 




Thou shalte haue that I the hyght ; 


110 


He sayd he wolde ete but lyte, 




Say on now and let me se. 




Tyll nyght that he home came. 


GO 


Than sayd the boye anone, 




And as the boye sate on a hyll, 




I haue a stepdame at home, 




An olde man came hym tyll, 




She is a shrewe to me : 




Walkynge by the waye ; 




Whan my fader gyueth me mete, 


115 


Sone, he sayde, god the se. 




She wolde theron that I were cheke, 




Syr, welcome mote ye be, 


65 


And stareth me in the face ; 




The lytell boye gan saye. 




Whan she loketh on me so, 




The olde man sayd, I am an hongred 


sore, 


I wolde she sholde let a rappe go, 




Hast thou ony mete in store, 




That it myght rynge ouer all the place, 


That thou mayst gyue me ? 




Than sayd the olde man tho, 


121 


The chylde sayd, so god me saue, 


70 


Whan she loketh on the so 




To such vytayle as I haue 




She shall begyn to blowe ; 




Welcome shall ye be. 




All that euer it may here 




Therof the olde man was gladde, 




Shall not themselfe stere, 


125 


The boye drewe forth suche as he had 




But laugh on a rowe. 




And sayd, do gladly. 


75 


Farewell, quod the olde man. 




The olde man was easy to please, 




God kepe the, sayd the chylde than, 




He ete and made hym well at ease, 




I take my leue at the ; 




And sayd, sone, gramercy. 




God, that moost best may, 


130 


Sone, thou haste gyuen mete to me, 




Kepe the bothe nyght and day. 




I shall the gyue thynges thre, 


80 


Gramercy, sone, sayd he. 




Thou shalt them neuer forgete. 




Than drewe it towarde the nyght, 




Then sayd the boye, as I trowe, 




Iacke hym hyed home full ryght, 




It is best that I haue a bowe, 




It was his ordynaunce ; 


135 


Byrdes for to ' shete.' 




He toke his pype and began to blowe, 




A bowe, sone, I shall the gyue, 


85 


All his beestes on a rowe, 




That shall last the all thy lyue, 




Aboute hym they can daunce. 




And euer a lyke mete, 




Thus wente he pypynge thrugh the towne, 


Shote therin whan thou good thynke, 




His beestes hym folowed by the sowne 


,140 


For yf thou shote and wynke, 




Into his faders close ; 




The prycke thow shalte hytte. 


90 


He wente and put them vp echone, 




Whan he the bowe in honde felte, 




Hom^warde he wente anone, 




And the boltes vnder his belte, 




Into his faders hall he gose. 




Lowde than he lough ; 




His fader at his souper sat, 


145 


He sayd, now had I a pype, 




Lytell Iacke espyed well that, 




Though it were neuer so lyte, 


95 


And sayd to hym anone, 




Than were I gladde ynough. 




Fader, I haue kepte your nete, 




A pype, sone, thou shalte haue also, 




I praye you gyue me some mete, 




In true musyke it shall go, 




I am an hongred, by Saynt Ihone 


150 


I put thee out of doubt ; 




I haue sytten metelesse 




All that may the pype here 


100 


All this daye kepynge your beestes, 




Shall not themselfe stere, 




My dyner feble it was. 




But laugh and lepe aboute. 




His fader toke a capons wynge, 




What shall the thyrde be ? 




And at the boye he gan it flynge, 


155 


For I wyll gyue the gyftes three, 




And badde hym ete apace. 






ioo te, 


Ver. 60, came home, De W. V. 84, shote, De W. si 






A. V. 99, 1 do the well to wyte. De W. 

58 




Ver. 105, to the before. Idem. 





456 THE FRERE AND THE BOYE. 




That greued his stepmoders hcrte sore 


t 


He was a ferde leest he came to late, 




As I tolde you before, 




He ranne fast and blyue. 


210 


She stared hym in the face, 




"Whan he came vpon the londe, 




"With that she let go a Waste, 


160 


Lytell Iacke there he fonde, 




That they in the hall were agaste, 




Dryuynge his beestes all alone ; 




It range ouer all the place. 




Boye, he sayd, god gyue the shame, 




All they laughed and had good game, 




"What hast thou done to thy dame ? 


215 


The wyfe waxed red for shame, 




Tell thou me anone ; 




She wolde that she had ben gone. 


165 


But yf thou canst excuse the well, 




Quod the boye, well I wote, 




By my trouth bete the I wyll, 




That gonne was well shote, 




I wyll no lenger abyde. 




As it had ben a stone. 




Quod the boye, what eyleth the ? 


220 


Cursedly she loked on him tho, 




My dame fareth as well as ye, 




Another blaste she let go, 


170 


"What nedeth ye to chyde ? 




She was almoost rente. 




Quod the boye, wyll ye wete 




Quod the boye, wyll ye se 




How I can a byrde shete, 




How my dame letteth pelletes fle, 




And other thynge withall ? 


225 


In fayth or euer she styntc ? 




Syr, he sayd, though I be lyte, 




The boye sayde vnto his dame, 


175 


Yonder byrde wyll I smyte, 




Tempre thy bombe, he sayd, for shame : 


And gyue her the I shall. 




She was full of sorowe. 




There sate a byrde vpon a brere, 




Dame, sayd the good man, go thy waye, 


Shote on boy, quod the frere, 


230 


For I swere to the by my faye, 




For that me lysteth to se. 




Thy gere is not to borowe. 


180 


He hytte the byrde on the heed. 




Afterwarde as ye shall here, 




That she fell downe deed, 




To the hous there came a frere, 




No ferder myght she flee. 




To lye there all nyghfe ; 




The frere to the busshe wente, 


235 


The wyfe loued him as a saynt, 




Vp the byrde for to hente, 




And to hym made her complaynt, 


185 


He thought it best for to done. 




And tolde hym all aryght : 




Iacke toke his pype and began to blowe, 


"Wee haue a boye within ywys, 




Then the frere, as I trowe, 




A shrewe for the nones he is, 




Began to daunce soone ; 


240 


He dooth me moche care ; 




As soone as he the pype herd, 




I dare not loke hym vpon, 


190 


Lyke a wood man he fared, 




I am ashamed, by Saynt Iohn, 




He lepte and daunced aboute ; 




To tell you how I fare : 




The breres scratched hym in the face 




I praye you mete the boy tomorowe, 




And in many an other place, 


245 


Bete hym well and gyue hym sorowe 




That the blode brast out ; 




And make the boye lame. 


195 


And tare his clothes by and by, 




Quod the frere, I shall hym bete. 




His cope and his scapelary, 




Quod the wyfe, do not forgete, 




And all his other wede. 




He dooth me moche shame : 




He daunced amonge thornes thycke, 


250 


I trowe the boye be some wytche. 




In many places they dyde hym pryck 


e, 


Quod the frere, I shall hym teche, 


200 


That fast gan he blede. 




Haue thou no care ; 




Iacke pyped and laughed amonge, 




I shall hym teche yf I may. 




The frere among the thornes was thronge, 


Quod the wyfe, I the praye, 




He hopped wunders hye ; 


255 


Do hym not spare. 

On the morowe the boye arose, 








205 


Vcr. 211, So A. and MS. a londe. De W. 




Into the felde soone he gose, 




Ver. 255. 




His beestes for to dryue ; 




A hoppyd wonderley hey ; 




The frere ranne out at the gate, 




The hoy seyde, and lowhe with all, 
Thes ys a sport reyall, 










Ver. 186, So A. and MS. aU omitted in De W. 




For a lord to se. MS. More. 





THE FRERE AND THE BOYE. 



457 



At the last he held vp his honde, 

And sayd I haue daunced so longe, 

That I am ly ke to dye ; 

Gentyll Iaeke, holde thy pype styll, 

And my trouth I plyght the tyll, 2G0 

I will do the no woo. 

Iacke sayd, in that tide, 

Frere skyppe out on the ferder syde, 

Lyghtly that thou were goo. 

The frere out of the busshe wente 265 

All to ragged and to rente, 

And torne on euery syde ; 

Unnethes on hym he had one clou-te, 

His bely for to wrappe aboute ; 

His harneys for to hyde. 270 

The breres had hym scratched so in the 

face, 
And [in] many an other place, 
He was all to bledde with blode ; 
All that myght the frere se, 
Were fayne awaye to flee, 275 

They wende he had ben wode. 
Whan he came to his hoost, 
Of his iourney he made no boost, 
His clothes were rente all ; 
Moche sorowe in his herte he had, 280 
And euery man hym dradde, 
Whan he came in to the hall. 
The wyfe sayd, where hast thou bene? 
In an euyll place I wene, 
Me thynketh by thyn arraye. 285 

Dame, I haue ben with thy sone, 
The deuyll of hell hym ouercome, 
For no man elles may. 
With that came in the good man, 290 

The wife sayd to hym than, 
Here is a foule araye ; 
Thy sone that is the lefe and dere, 
Hath almoost slayne this holy frere, 
Alas ! and welawaye ! 295 

The good man sayd, benedicite ! 
What hath the boye done frere to the ? 
Tell me without lette. 
The frere sayd, the deuyll hym spede, 
He hath made me daunce, rnaugre my hede, 
Amonge the thornes, hey go bette.* 301 
The good man sayd to hym tho, 
Haddest thou lost thy lyfe so, 
It had ben grete synne. 
The frere sayd, by our lady, 305 

The pype went so meryly, 

*The name, it is probable, of some old dance. To 
"dance hey go mad," is still a common expression in the 
North. 



That I coude neuer blynne. 

Whan it drewe towarde the nyght, 

The boye came home full ryght, 

As ho was wont to do ; 310 

Whan he came into the hall, 

Soone his fader gan hym call, 

And badde hym to come hym to. 

Boye, he sayd, tell me here, 

What hast thou done to the frere ? 315 

Tell me without lesynge. 

Fader, he sayd, by my faye, 

I dyde nought elles, as I you saye, 

But pyped him a sprynge. 319 

That pype, sayd his fader, wold I here. 

Mary, god forbede ! sayd the frere ; 

His handes he dyde wrynge. 

Yes, sayd the good man, by goddes grace. 

Then, sayd the frere, out alas ! 

And made grete mournynge. 325 

For the loue of god, quod the frere, 

If ye wyll that pype here, 

Bynde me to a post ; 

For I knowe none other redo, 

And I daunce I am but deed, 330 

Well I wote my lyfe is lost. 

Stronge ropes they toke in honde, 

The frere to the poste they bonde, 

In the myddle of the halle ; 

All that at the souper sat 325 

Laughed and had good game thereat, 

And said the frere wolde not fall. 

Than sayd the good man, 

Pype sonne, as thou can, 

Hardely whan thou wylle. 340 

Fader, he sayd, so mote I the, 

Haue ye shall ynough of gle, 

Tyll ye bydde me be styll. 

As soon as Iacke the pype hent, 

All that there were verament, 345 

Began to daunce and lepe ; 

Whan they gan the pype here, 

They myght not themselfe stere, 

But hurled on an hope. 

The good man was in no dyspayre, 350 

But lyghtly lepte out of his chayre, 

All with a good chere ; 

Some lepte ouer the stocke, 

Some stombled at the blocke, 

And some fell flatte in the fyre. 355 

The good man had grete game, 

How they daunced all in same ; 

The good wyfe after gan steppe, 



Ver. 312, His fader dyde hym soone call, De W. V. 327, 
that he pype, De W. V. 339, Pype on good sone, De W. 



458 THE FRERE AND THE BOYE. 


Eucrmore she kest her eye at Iacke, 


Frydaye came as ye may here, 


410 


And fast her tayle began to cracke, 360 


Iackes stepdame and the frere 




Lowder than they coude speke. 


Togeder there they mette ; 




The frere hymselfe was almoost lost, 


Folke gadered a grete pase, 




For knockynge his heed ayenst the post, 


To here euery mannes case, 




He had none other grace ; 


The offycyall was sette. 


415 


The rope rubbed hym vnder the chynne, 


There was moche to do, 




That the blode downe dyde rynne, 366 


Maters more than one or two, 




In many a dyuers place. 


Both with preest and clerke ; 




Iacke ranne into the strete, 


Some had testamentes for to preue, 




After hym fast dyde they lepe, 


And fayre women, by your leue, 


420 


Truly they coude not stynte ; 370 


That had strokes in the derke. 




They went out at the dore so thycke, 


Euery man put forth his case, 




That eche man fell on others necke, 


Then came forth frere Topyas, 




So pretely out they wente. 


And Iackes stepdame also ; 




Neyghbours that were fast by, 


Syr offycyall, sayd he, 


425 


Herde the pype go so meryly, 375 


I haue brought a boye to thee, 




They ranne into the gate ; 


Which hath wrought me moche wo( 


' 5 


Some lept ouer the hatche, 


He is a grete nygromancere, 




They had no time to drawe the latche, 


In all Orlyaunce is not his pere, 




They wende they had come to late. 


As by my trouth I trowe. 


430 


Some laye in theyr bedde, 380 


He is a wytche, quod the wyfe ; 




And helde vp theyr hede, 


Than, as I shall tell you blythe, 




Anone they were waked ; 


Lowde coude she blowe. 




Some sterte in the waye, 


Some laughed without fayle, 




Truly as I you saye, 


Some sayd, dame, tempre thy tayle 


435 


Stark bely naked. 385 


Ye wreste it all amysse. 




By that they were gadred aboute, 


Dame, quod the offycyall, 




I wys there was a grete route, 


Tel forth on thy tale, 




Dauncynge in the strete ; 


Lette not for this. 




Some were lame and myght not go, 


The wyfe was afrayed of an other cracke, 


But yet ywys they daunced to, 390 


That no worde more she spacke, 


441 


On handes and on fete. 


She durste not for drede. 




The boye «ayd, now wyll I rest. 


The frere sayd, so mote I the, 




Quod the good man, I holde it best, 


Knaue, this is long of the 




With a niery chere ; 


That euyll mote thou spede. 


445 


Sease, son, whan thou wylte, 395 


The frere sayd, syr offycyall, 




In fayth this is the meryest fytte 


The boye wyll combre vs all, 




That I herde this seuen yere. 


But yf ye may him chaste ; 




They daunced all in same, 


Syr, he hath a pype truly, 




Some laughed and had good game 


Wyll make you daunce and lepe on 


bye, 


And some had many a fall. 400 


Tyll your herte braste. 


451 


Thou cursed boye, quod the frere, 


The offycyall sayd, so mot I the, 




Here I somon the that thou appere 
Before the offycyall ; 


That pype wolde I fayne se, 




Ver. 423, Than cam soret capias, MS. V. 432, blyue, A, 


Loke thou be there on Frydaye, 


Ver. 453, &c. 




I wyll the mete and I may, 405 


That pype well y se, 




For to ordeyne the sorowe. 


He seyde, hoy, hes het her? 




The boye sayd, by god auowe, 


Ye seer, be mey flay, 
Anon pype ws a lay, 




Frere, I am as redy as thou, 


And make vs all cher. 




And Frydaye were to morowe. 


The offeciall the pype hent, 
And blow tell his brow hen bent, 
Bot therof cam no gle ; 






Ver. 361, Lowde, De W. V. 392, They, W. V. 402, 403, 


The offeciall seyde, this ys nowth, 




v som' the affor the comserey, MS. 


Be god that me der bowthe, 





THE FRERE AND THE BOYE. 459 


And knowe what myrth that he can make. 


But to holde etylle for goddes grace, 


Mary, god forbede, than sayd the frere, 


And for the loue of Mary mylde. 


That he sholde pype here, 456 


Than sayd Iacke to them echone, 470 


Afore that I hens the waye take. 


If ye wolde me graunte with herte fre, 


Pype on, lacke, sayd the offycyall, 


That he shall do me no vylany, 


I wyll here now how thou canst playe. 


But hens to departe euen as I come. 


Iacke blewe vp, the sothe to saye, 460 


Therto they answered all anone, 


And made them soone to daunce all. 


And promysed him anone ryght, 475 


The offycyall lepte ouer the deske, 


In his quarell for to fyght, 


And daunced aboute wonder faste, 


And defende hym from his fone, 


Tyll bothe his shynnes he all to brest, 


Thus they departed in that tyde, 


Hym thought it was not of the best, 465 


The offycyall and the sompnere, 


Than cryed he vnto the chylde, 


His stepdame and the frere, 


To pype no more within this place, 


With great ioye and moche pryde. 480 


Het ys not worthe a sclo. 


And a nethe meyt hepe. 


Be mey fay, qod the freyr, 


The offeciall began to star, 


The boy can make het pype cler, 


And seyde, hafe for they heyr, 


Y bescro hem for hes mede. 


Stent of they lay, 


The offecial bad the boy a say. 


And boldeley haske of me, 


Nay, qod the freyr, er that a way 


What thou welt hafe for thy gle, 


For that y for bede. 


Y schall the redey pay. 


Pype on, qod the offeciall, and not spar. 


Then to stend Jake began, 


The freyr began to star, 


The offeciall was a werey man, 


Jake hes pype hent, 


Mey trowet y pleyt y the, 


As sone as Gake began to blow, 


Thes was a god gle, 


All they lepyd on a rowe, 


And seyde the worst that euer they se, 


And ronde abowt they went. 


For het was er neyth. 


The offeciall had so gret hast, 


Then bespake the offeciall, 


That boyt hes schenys brast, 


And leytley Gake can call, 


A pon a blokys hende. 


Hes pype he hem hent, 


The clerkys to dans they hem sped, 


And gaffe hem xx s. 


And som all ther eynke sched, 


And euer mor hes blesyng, 


And som ther bekes rent, 


For that merey fet. 


And som cast ther boky[s] at the wall, 


When Gake had that money hent, 


And som ouer ther felowys can fall, 


Anon homard he went, 


So weytley they lepyd. 


Glad sherof was he ; 


Ther was withowt let, 


He waxed a wordeley marchande, 


They stombylled on a hepe, 


A man of gret degre. 


They dansed all a bowthe, 


Hes stepdame, y dar say, 


And yever the freyr creyd owt, 


Dorst neuer after that day, 


Y may no lengger dans for soyt, 


Nat wonley ones desplese. 


Y haffe lost halffe mey cod war, 


They lowyd togedyr all thre, 


When y dansed yn the thornes. 


Hes father, hes stepdame and he, 


Som to crey they began, 


Affter yn gret eys. 


Mey boke ys all to toren ; 


And that they ded, soyt to say, 


Som creyd withowt let, 


Tho hewyn they toke the way, 


And som bad hoo ; 


Withowtyn eney mes. 


Som seyde het was a god game, 


Now god that dyed for os all, 


And som seyde they wer lame, 


And dranke aysell and gall, 


Y may no leynger skeppe ; 


Bryng them all to they bles, 


Som dansed so long, 


That beleuet on the name Jhc. 


Tell they helde owt the townge, 

/ 


- 



460 



KEMPION. 



|umpio. 



We copy tnis ballad from the " Minstrelsy 
of the Scottish Border;" -where it is given 
" chiefly" from " Mrs. Brown's MS.," with 
" corrections from a recited fragment." Sir 
Walter Scott, in some prefatory remarks, re- 
fers to several traditionary anecdotes, still 
current in Scotland and on the borders, con- 
cerning huge and poisonous snakes, or 
"worms," destroyed by gallant knights in 
the olden time. The manor of Sockburne, 
in the bishopric of Durham, is held of the 
bishop by the service of presenting to him 
on his first entrance into his diocese, an an- 
tique sword or falchion, to commemorate the 
slaying of a monstrous creature that devoured 
men, women, and children, — by Sir John 
Conyers, who received the manor as a reward 
for his bravery. Pollard's lands, near Bishop 
Auckland, are held by a similar tenure ; and 
the founder of the noble family of Somerville 
is said to have performed a deed as wonder- 
ful — by thrusting down the throat of the 
snake a burning peat, "bedabbed with pitch, 
rosett, and brimstone." A rude sculpture 
carved above the entrance to the ancient 
church at Linton in Roxburghshire, is said 
to represent this exploit ; of which " the vul- 
gar tell us," — 

The wode Laird of Lariestoun 

Slew the wode worm of Wormiestoune, 

And wan all Lintoun parochine. 

The story of the " Lambton worm" as re- 
corded in Surtees' " History of Durham," is 
still more remarkable. The heir of Lambton, 
profanely fishing on a sabbath day, hooked a 
small worm or elf, which he carelessly threw 
into a well; in process of time it grew to a 
huge size, and made prey of the whole country, 
levying a contribution daily of "nine cows' 
milk," and, in default of payment, devouring 
man and beast. The heir who had wrought 
the mischief, returning from the crusades, 
determined to destroy it ; and, by the advice 
of a witch, or wise woman, clad himself in a 
coat of mail studded with razor blades ; select- 
ing as the scene of battle the middle of a river, 
so that as fast as the worm was cut to pieces 



the stream carried away the dissevered parts, 
and thus prevented their subsequent adhesion. 
The knight had promised, however, that he 
would slay the first living thing that met him 
after his victory ; this chanced to be his 
father, and, as he refused to keep his vow, 
it was decreed that no chief of his family 
should die in his bed for nine generations. 
Popular tradition continues to point out the 
scene of the encounter. Stories of men and 
women transformed into monsters are suffi- 
ciently numerous, and have been found 
among every people. Many such exist in 
England, in Scotland, and in Ireland ; in the 
latter country they are invariably supposed 
to occupy lakes of unfathomed depth, out of 
which they occasionally arise and make ex- 
cursions among adjacent mountains, bearing 
with them to their " palaces" beneath the 
waters, the cattle of some unhappy " neigh- 
bour," and not unfrequently the neighbour 
himself. The origin of the superstition is 
believed to have been Danish. The tradi- 
tions of Denmark are full of such romances ; 
and it is more than probable, that it may 
have been introduced, by its sea-kings, into 
the British Islands. 

" The ballad of Kempion," writes Sir Wal- 
ter Scott, " seems, from the names of the per- 
sonages and the nature of the adventure, to 
have been an old metrical romance degraded 
into a ballad by the lapse of time, and the 
corruption of reciters." The allusion to the 
" arblast bow" would seem to affix the com- 
position to a remote date.* Two ballads 
which relate to a similar incident have been 
preserved ; one entitled " Kemp Owyne," by 
Mr. Motherwell, and another " The Laidly 
Worm of Spindleston-IIeugh," affirmed to 
have been composed, in 1270, by Duncan 
Frazier, " living on Cheviot," but supposed 
to have been, at least re-written, by Mr. 
Robert Lambe, vicar of Norham. In " Kemp 
Owyne," ' dove Isabel' is transformed into a 
monster by her stepmother, and doomed to 
retain her savage form — 



* The string of the arbalast, or arbalist, was drawn to 
the notch in the centre by means of a wheel, which was 
usually hung to the girdle of the archer. 



KEMPION. 



461 



Till Kemp Owyne come ower the sea 
And borrow her with kisses three. 

The three kisses are of course given ; when, 
instead of the beast "whose breath was 
Strang, whose hair was lang," — 

Her breath was sweet, her hair grew short, 
And twisted nane about the tree ; 

And, smilingly, she came about, 
As fair a woman as fair could be. 

The ballad of the " Laidly (loathsome) 
Worm" was no doubt greatly altered by Mr. 
Lambe, but there is evidence that the story 
was " generally known in Northumberland" 
long before he printed the version attributed 
to Duncan Frazier ; and it is to be regretted 
that he did not communicate it as he received 
it — stript of its " amendments and enlarge- 
ments." In this ballad, the daughter of the 
King of Bamborough is metamorphosed by 
her step-mother, and restored to her natural 
shape by her brother " Childy "VVynd," who 
avenges the wrong done to his sister by con- 
verting the foul witch into a toad. As in 
" Kempion," and " Kemp Owyne," the resto- 
ration to humanity is effected by "kisses 
three:"— 

" 0, quit thy sword and bend thy bow, 

And give me kisses three ; 
For though I am a poisonous worm, 

No hurt I'll do to thee. 

"0, quit thy sword and bend thy bow, 

And give me kisses three ; 
If I'm not won, ere the sun goes down, 

Won I shall never be/' 

He quitted his sword and bent his bow, 

And gave her kisses three ; 
She crept into a hole a worm, 

But out stept a lady. 

Percy prints the ballad of the " Witch of 
Wokey," written in 1748, by the ingenious 
Dr. Harrington of Bath, She "blasted every 
plant around ;" and was encountered, not by 
a knight, but by a " lerned wight," who hav- 
ing chauntede out a goodlie booke, and 
sprinkled, plentifully, holy water, — 

Lo, where stood a bag before, 
Now stood a ghastly stone ! 



" Cum heir, cum heir, ye freely fee'd, 
And lay your head low on my knee, 

The heaviest weird I will you read, 
That ever was read to gay ladye. 

"0 meikle dolour sail ye dree, 5 

And aye the salt seas o'er ye'se swim ; 

And far rnair dolour sail ye dree 

On Estmere crags, when ye them climb. 

" I weird ye to a fiery beast, 

And relieved sail ye never be, 10 

Till Kempion, the kingis son, 

Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss thee."— 

meikle dolour did she dree, 

And aye the salt seas o'er she swam ; 

And far mair dolour did she dree 15 

On Estmere crags, when she them clamb : 

And aye she cried for Kempion, 
Gin he would but come to her hand. 

Now word has gane to Kempion, 

That sicken a beast was in his land. 20 

"Now, by my sooth," said Kempion, 
"This fiery beast I'll gang and see." — 

"And by my sooth,' said Segramour, 
" My ae brother, I'll gang wi' thee." 

Then bigged hae they a bonny boat, 25 

And they hae set her to the sea ; 

But a mile before they reached the shore, 
Around them she gared the red fire flee. 

"0 Segramour, keep the boat afloat, 

And let her na the land o'er near ; 30 

For this wicked beast will sure gae mad, 
And set fire to a' the land and mair." — 

Syne has he bent an arblast bow, 
And aimed an arrow at her head ; 

And swore if she didna quit the land, 35 
Wi' that same shaft to shoot her dead. 

" out of my stythe I winna rise, 
(And it is not for the awe o' thee,) 

Till Kempion, the kingis son, 39 

Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me."- 

He has louted him o'er the dizzy crag, 
And gien the monster kisses ane ; 

Awa she gaed, and again she cam, 
The fieryest beast that ever was seen. 



462 



THE DEMON LOVER. 



" out o' my stythe I winna rise, 42 

(And not for a' thy bow nor thee,) 

Till Kempion, the kingis son, 

Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me." — 

He's louted him o'er the Estmere crag, 
And he has gi'en her kisses twa : 50 

Awa she gaed, and again she cam, 
The fieryest beast that ever you saw. 

" out of my den I winna rise, 

Nor flee it for the fear o' thee, 
Till Kempion, that courteous knight, 55 

Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me." — 

He's louted him o'er the lofty crag, 
And he has gi'en her kisses three : 

Awa she gaed, and again she cam, 

The loveliest ladye e'er could be ! GO 

" And by my sooth," says Kempion, 
" My ain true love, (for this is she,) 

They surely had a heart o' stane, 
Could put thee to such misery. 



" was it warwolf* in the wood ? 65 

Or was it mermaid in the sea ? 
Or was it man or vile woman, 

My ain true love, that mis-shaped thee ?"— 

" It wasna warwolf in the wood, 

Nor was it mermaid in the sea : 70 

But it was my wicked step-mother, 

And wae and weary may she be !" — 

" 0, a heavier weird shall light her on, 
Than ever fell on vile woman ; 

Her hair shall grow rough, 75 

And her teeth grow lang, 
And on her four feet shall she gang. 

" None shall take pity her upon ; 

In "Wormeswood she aye shall wan ; 
And relieved shall she never be, 80 

Till St. Mungo come over the sea." — 
And sighing said that weary wight, 

" I doubt that day I'll never see !" 



<t Mtmau f after. 



This ballad first appeared in the "Min- 
strelsy of the Scottish Border ;" it was com- 
municated to Sir Walter Scott by Mr. William 
Laidlaw, by whom it was "taken down from 
recitation." Mr. Motherwell, by whom it 
was reprinted in his valuable volume, " Min- 
strelsy, Ancient and Modern," surmises that, 
" although it would be unfair for a moment 
to imagine that Sir Walter Scott made any 
addition to it, Mr. Laidlaw may have im- 
proved upon its naked original." That he 
did so, is by no means unlikely ; nor is it 
very improbable that, in passing through the 
alembic of the great Magician of the North, 
it received additional purity, without losing 
aught of its intrinsic worth. Mr. Motherwell, 
" with all his industry, was unable to find it 
in a more perfect state than this," — which 
the reader will be interested in comparing 
with the appended copy from the "Minstrelsy 
of the Scottish Border:" — 

" I have seven ship upon the sea 
Laden with the finest gold, 



And mariners to wait us upon — 
All these you may behold. 

" And I have shoes for my love's feet, 

Beaten of the purest gold, 
And lined with the velvet soft, 

To keep my love's feet from the cold. 

" how do you love the ship," he said, 
" Or how do you love the sea ? 

Or how do you love the bold mariners, 
That wait upon thee and me ?" 

" I do love the ship," she said, 

" And I do love the sea : 
But woe be to the dim mariners, 

That nowhere I can see." 

They had not sailed a mile awa', 

Never a mile but one, 
When she began to weep and mourn, 

And to think on her little wee son. 



* Warwolf signifies a magician, possessing the power of 
transforming himself into a wolf, for the purpose of ravage 
and destruction. 



THE DEMON LOVER. 



465 



" hold your tongue, my dear," he said, 
" And let all your weeping abee, 

For I'll soon show to you how the lilies grow 
On the banks of Italy." 

They had not sailed a mile awa', 

Never a mile but two, 
Until she espied his cloven foot, 

From his gay robes sticking thro'. 

They had not sailed a mile awa', 

Never a mile but three, 
When dark dark grew his eerie looks, 

And raging grew the sea. 

They had not sailed a mile awa', 

Never a mile but four, 
When the little wee ship ran round about 

And never was seen more. 



If this be, in reality, the skeleton which 
Mr. Laidlaw clothed in sinews and flesh, he 
has given unquestionable proof of genius of 
a very rare order. There is, however, little 
doubt that he had actually " taken down, 
from recitation," a much more perfect copy, 
to which he gave some " finishing touches" 
of his own ; for the composition bears un- 
equivocal marks of old time ; and a collateral 
proof of its antiquity, in a more extended 
form, is supplied by an authority, to which 
reference is made by the accomplished editor 
of the latest edition of the "Border Min- 
strelsy." Mr. Buchan, in his " Ancient 
Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland, 
hitherto unpublished," prints another version 
of the story, under the title of "James Her- 
ries ;" with this difference, however, that 
here, the lover, who wreaks his vengeance on 
the " fause woman," is not a demon with a 
" cloven foot," but the ghost of a " first true 
love ;" — the other incidents are precisely 
similar, and many of the lines are exactly 
the same ; although as a whole it is far less 
grand, touching, and dramatic, than the ver- 
sion as preserved by Sir Walter Scott. Mr. 
Buchan gives three additional stanzas, de- 
scriptive of the misery of the betrayed hus- 
band ; they are fine and effective, and contri- 
bute strongly to impress the moral of the 
tale : — 

59 



" wae be to the ship, the ship, 

And wae be to the sea ; 
And wae be to the mariners 

Took Jeanie Douglas frae me ! 

" bonny, bonny was my love, 

A pleasure to behold ; 
The very hair o' my love's head 

Was like the threads of gold. 

" bonny was her cheek, her cheek, 

And bonny was her chin ; 
And bonny was the bride she was, 

The day she was made mine." 

The legend contained in the ballad is, ac- 
cording to Sir Walter Scott, "in various 
shapes current in Scotland ;" but it is by no 
means peculiar to that country. Similar 
stories are told in many of the English coun- 
ties ; and in Ireland it is very common ; the 
moral conveying a warning against the crime 
of infidelity. Sir Walter says, " I remember 
to have heard a ballad, in which a fiend is 
introduced paying his addresses to a beauti- 
ful maiden ; but, disconcerted by the holy 
herbs she wore in her bosom, makes the fol- 
lowing lines the burthen of his courtship ; — 

' Gin ye wish to be leman mine, 

Lay aside the St. John's wort, and the ver- 



The same power of keeping away evil spirits 
is attributed to the vervain in Ireland; where, 
when it is pulled by village mediciners, while 
the morning dew is on the ground, this verse 
is generally repeated : — 

" Vervain, thou growest upon holy ground, 
In Mount Calvary thou wert found ; 
Thou curest all sores and all diseases, 
And in the name of Holy Jesus, 
I pull you out of the ground." 

The unhappy lady whose fate is described 
in the accompanying ballad had no such 
" protection," and was without that surer 
safeguard, to which the great poet refers as 
a possession, o'er which 

No goblin or swart fairy of the mine 
Hath hurtful power. 



4G4 



THE DEMON LOVER. 



" where have you been my long, long love, 
This long seven years and mair?" 

" I'm come to seek my former vows, 
Ye granted me before." 

" hold your tongue of your former vows, 5 

For they will breed sad strife ; 
hold your tongue of your former vows, 

For I am become a wife." 

He turned him right and round about, 
And the tear blinded his e'e ; 10 

" I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground, 
If it had not been for thee. 



" I might have had a king's daughter, 

Far far beyond the sea ; 
I might have had a king's daughter, 

Had it not been for love o' thee." 



15 



" If ye might have had a king's daughter, 

Yersell ye had to blame ; 
Ye might have taken the king's daughter, 

For ye kend that I was nane." 20 

" faulse are the vows o' womankind, 

But fair is their faulse bodie ; 
I never would hae trodden on Irish ground, 

Had it not been for love o' thee." 

" If I was to leave my husband dear, 25 

And my two babes also, 
what have you to take me to, 

If with you I should go ?" 

" I have seven ships upon the sea, 

The eighth brought me to land ; 30 

With four and twenty bold mariners, 
And music on every hand." 

She has taken up her two little babes, 
Kissed them baith cheek and chin : 

" fare ye weel, my ain two babes, 35 

For I'll never see you again." 

She set her foot upon the ship, 

No mariners could she behold ; 
But the sails were o' the taffetie, 

And the masts o' the beaten gold. 40 

She had not sailed a league, a league, 

A league but barely three, 
When dismal grew his countenance, 

And drumlie <rrew his e'e. 



The masts that were like the beaten gold, 45 

Bent not on the heaving seas ; 
And the sails, that were o' the taffetie, 

Filled not in the eastland breeze. 

They had not sailed a league, a league, 
A league but barely three, 50 

Until she espied his cloven foot, 
And she wept right bitterlie.* 

"O hold your tongue of your weeping," says 
he, 

" Of your weeping now let me be ; 
I will show you how the lilies grow 55 

On the banks of Italy." 

"O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills, 
That the sun shines sweetly on V 

"0 yon are the hills of heaven," he said, 
" Where you will never win." GO 

"0 whaten a mountain is yon," she said, 
" All so dreary wi' frost and snow ?" 

" yon is the mountain of hell," he cried, 
" Where you and I will go." 

And aye when she turn'd her round about, 
Aye taller he seemed to be ; 66 

Until that the tops o' the gallant ship 
Nae taller were than he. 

The clouds grew dark, and the wind grew 
loud, 

And the levin filled her e'e ; 70 

And waesome wailed the snow-white sprites, 

Upon the gurlie sea. 

He struck the top-mast wi' his hand, 

The foremast wi' his knee ; 
And he brake that gallant ship in twain, 

And sank her in the sea. 



• In Mr. Buchan's ballad, remorse is made to visit the 
heroine, not by the sight of the " cloven foot," but by a 
feeling more natural and more worthy : — 

She minded on her dear husband, 
Her little son tee. 

And, at the same time, — 

The thoughts o' grief came in her mind, 
And sho langed for to be hame ; 

While the miserable woman thus prays: — 

" I may be buried in Scottish ground, 
Where I was bred and born." 



HOW A MERCIIANDE DYD IIYS WYFE BETRAY. 



465 



|0to it Itortjpmta fcg& hs Sljjfc gcttair. 



The story of this ancient poem seems to 
have appeared in all possible shapes. It is 
contained in a tract entitled " Penny-wise, 
pound-foolish ; or a Bristow diamond, set in 
two rings, and both crack'd. Profitable for 
married men, pleasant for young men, and a 
rare example for all good women," London, 
1631, 4to. b. 1., and is well known, at least in 
the North, by the old ballad called " The 
Pennyworth of Wit." It likewise appears, 
from Langham's letter, 1575, to have been 
then in print, under the title of " The Chap- 
man of a Pennyworth of Wit ;" though no 
edition of that age is now known to exist. 
The following copy is from a transcript made 
by the late Mr. Baynes from one of Bp. More's 
manuscripts in the public library at Cam- 
bridge (Ff. 2. 38, or 690), written apparently 
about the reign of Edward the Fourth, or 
Richard the Third ; carefully but unnecessa- 
rily examined with the original. The poem 
itself, however, is indisputably of a greater age, 
and seems from the language and orthography 
to be of Scottish, or at least of North country 
extraction. The fragment of a somewhat 
different copy, in the same dialect, is con- 
tained in a MS. of Henry the Sixth's time in 
the British Museum (Bib. Har. 5396). It has 
evidently been designed to be sung to the harp. 

Lystenyth, lordyngys, y you pray, 

How a merchand dyd hys wyfe betray, 

Bothe be day and be nyght, 

Yf ye wyll herkyn aryght. 

Thys songe ys of a merchand of thys cuntre, 

That had a wyfe feyre and free ; 6 

The marchand had a full gode wyfe, 

Sche louyd hyin trewly as hur lyfe, 

What that euyr he to hur sayde, 

Euyr sche helde hur wele apayde : 10 

The marchand, that was so gay, 

By another woman he lay ; 

He boght hur gownys of grete pryce, 

Furryd with menyvere and with gryse, 

To hur hedd ryall atyre, 15 

As any lady myght desyre ■ 

Hys wyfe, that was so trewe as ston, 

He wolde ware no thyng vpon : 



That was foly be my fay, 

That fayrenes schulde tru loue betray. 20 

So hyt happenyd, as he wolde, 

The marchand ouer the see he schulde ; 

To hys leman ys he gon, 

Leue at hur for to tane ; 

With clyppyng and with kyssyng swete, 25 

When they schulde parte bothe dyd they 
wepe. 

Tyll hys wyfe ys he gon, 

Leue at her then hath he tan ; 

Dame, he seyde, be goddys are, 

Haste any money thou woldyst ware? 30 

Whan y come bezonde the see 

That y myzt the bye some ryche drewre. 

Syr, sche seyde, as Christ me saue, 

Ye haue all that euyr y haue ; 

Ye schall haue a peny here, 35 

As ye ar my trewe fere, 

Bye ye me a penyworth of wytt, 

And in youre hert kepe wele hyt. 

Styll stode the merchand tho, 

Lothe he was the peny to forgoo, 40 

Certen sothe, as y yow say, 

He put hyt in hys puree and yede hys way. 

A full gode wynde god hath hym sende, 

Yn Fraunce hyt can hym brynge ; 

A full gode schypp arrayed he 45 

Wyth marchaundyce and spycere. 

Certen sothe, or he wolde reste, 

He boght hys lemman of the beste, 

He boght hur bedys, brochys and ryngys, 

Nowchys of golde, and many feyre thyngys ; 

He boght hur perry to hur hedd, 51 

Of safurs and of rubyes redd ; 

Hys wyfe, that was so trew as ston, 

He wolde ware nothyng vpon : 

That was foly be my fay, 55 

That fayrenes schulde trew loue betray. 

When he had boght all that he wolde, 

The marchand ouyr the see he schulde. 

The marchandys man to his mayster 

speke, 
Oure dameys peny let vs not forgete. 60 

The marchand swore, be seynt Anne, 
Zyt was that a lewde bargan, 
To bye owre dame a penyworth of wytt, 
In all Fraunce y can not fynde hyt. 



466 



HOW A MERCHANDE DYD HYS WYFE BETRAY. 



' An' olde man in the halle stode, 65 

The marchandjs speche he undurzode : 
The olde man to the marchand can say, 
A worde of counsell y yow pray, 
And y schall selle yow a peny worth of wyt, 
Yf ye take gode hede to hy t : 70 

Tell me marchand, be thy lyfe, 
Whethyr haste thou a leman or a wyfe ? 
Syr, y haue both, as haue y reste, 
But my paramour loue I beste. 
Then seyde the olde man, withowten were, 
Do now as y teche the here ; 76 

When thou comyst ouyr the salte fome, 
Olde clothys then do the vpon, 
To thy lemman that thou goo, 
And telle her of all thy woo ; 80 

Syke sore, do as y the say, 
And telle hur all thy gode ys loste away, 
Thy schyp ys drownyd in the fom, 
And all thy god ys loste the from ; 
Whan thou haste tolde hur soo, 85 

Then to thy weddyd wyfe thou go ; 
Whedyr helpyth the bettur yn thy nede, 
Dwelle with hur, as Cryste the spede. 
The marchand seyde, wele must thou fare, 
Have here thy peny, y haue my ware. 90 
When he come ouer the salte fome, 
Olde clothys he dyd hym vpon, 
Hys lemman lokyd forthe and on hym see, 
And seyde to hur maj^dyn, how lykyth the ? 
My love ys comyn fro beyonde the see, 95 
Come hedur, and see hym wyth thyn eye. 
The maydyn seyde, be my fay, 
He ys yn a febull array. 
Go down, maydyn, in to the halle, 
Yf thou mete the marchand wythalle, 100 
And yf he spyrre aftyr me, 
Say, thou sawe me wyth non eye ; 
Yf he wyll algatys wytt, 
Say in my chaumbyr y lye sore syke, 
Out of hyt y may not wynne, 105 

To speke wyth none ende of my kynne, 
Nother wyth hym nor wyth none other, 
Thowe he ware myn own brother. 
Alias ! seyde the maydyn, why sey ye soo? 
Thynke how he helpyed yow owt of moche 
wo. 110 

Fyrst when ye mett, wyth owt lesynge, 
Youre gode was not worthe xx s., 
Now hyt ys worthe cccc pownde, 
Of golde and syluyr that ys rounde ; 



Yer. 65, And. V. 79. 80. These two lines are in the MS. 
inserted after the four following. 



Gode ys but a lante lone, 115 

Some tyme men haue hyt, and some tyme 

none ; 
Thogh all hys gode be gon hym froo, 
Neuyr forsake hym in hys woo. 
Go downe, maydyn, as y bydd the, 
Thou schalt no lenger ellys dwelle with me. 
The maydyn wente in to the halle, 121 

There sche met the marchand wythall. 
Where ys my lemman? where is sche? 
Why wyll sche not come speke wyth me ? 
Syr, y do the wele to wytt, 125 

Yn hyr chaumbyr sche lyeth full syke, 
Out of hyt sche may not wynne, 
To speke wyth non ende of hur kynne, 
Nother wyth yow nor wyth none other, 
Thowe ye were hur owne brother. 130 

Maydyn, to my lemman that thou go, 
And telle hur my gode ys loste me fro, 
My schyp ys drownyd in the fom, 
And all my gode ys loste me from ; 
A gentylman have y slawe, 135 

Y dar not abyde the londys lawe ; 
Pray hur, as sche louyth me dere, 
As y have ben to hur a trewe fere, 
To kepe me preuy in hur chaumbyr, 

That the kyngys baylyes take me neuyr. 140 

Into the chaumbyr the maydyn ys goon, 

Thys tale sche tolde hur dame anone. 

In to the halle, maydyn, wynde thou downe, 

And bydd hym owt of my halle to goon, 

Or y schall send in to the towne, 145 

And make the kyngys baylyes to come ; 

Y swere, be god of grete renown, 

Y wyll neuyr harbur the kyngys feloun. 
The maydyn wente in to the halle, 

And thus sche tolde the merchand alle ; 150 
The marchand sawe none other spede, 
He toke hys leve and forthe he yede. 
Lystenyth, lordyngys, curtes and hende, 
For zyt ys the better fytt behynde. 

THE SECOND FIT. 

Ltstentth, lordyngys, great and small : 

The marchand ys now to hys own halle ; 

Of hys comyng hys wyfe was fayne, 

Anone sche come hym agayne. 

Husbonde, sche seyde, welcome ye be, 

How haue ye farde beyonde the see? 160 

Dame, he seyde, be goddys are, 

All full febyll hath be my fare ; 

All the gode that euer was thyn and myn 

Hyt ys loste be seynt Martyn ; 



HOW A MERCHANDE DYD HYS WYFE BETRAY. 



467 



In a storme y was bestadde, 165 

Was y neuyr halfe so sore adrad, 

Y thanke hyt god, for so y may, 
That euyr y skapyd on ly ve away ; 
My schyp ys drownyd in the fom, 

And all my gode ys loste me from ; 170 

A. gentylman haue y slawe, 

I may not abyde the londys lawe ; 

I pray the, as thou louest me dere, 

As thou art my trewe weddyd fere, 174 

In thy chaumber thou woldest kepe me dern. 

Syr, sche seyde, no man schall me warne : 

Be stylle, husbonde, sygh not so sore, 

He that hathe thy gode may sende the more ; 

Thowe all thy gode be fro the goo, 

I wyll neuyr forsake the in thy woo ; 180 

Y schall go to the kyng and to the quene, 
And knele before them on my kneen, 
There to knele and neuyr to cese, 

Tyl of the kyng y haue getyn thy pees : 

I can bake, brewe, carde and spynne, 185 

My maydenys and y can sylvyr wynne, 

Euyr whyll y am thy wyfe, 

To maynten the a trewe mannys lyfe. 

Certen sothe, as y yow say, 

All nyght be hys wyfe he lay, 190 

On the morne, as he for the yede, 

He kaste on hym a ryall wede, 

And bestrode a full gode stede, 

And to hys lemmans hows he yede. 

Hys lemman lokyd forthe and on hym see, 

As he come rydyng ouyr the lee, 196 

Sche put on hur a garment of palle, 

And mett the marchand in the halle, 

Twyes or thryes, or euyr he wyste, 

Trewly sche had hym kyste. 200 

Syr, sche seyde, be seynt John, 

Ye were neuyr halfe so welcome home. 

Sche was a schrewe, as haue y hele, 

There sche currayed fauell well. 

Dame, he seyde, be seynt John, 205 

Zyt ar not we at oon ; 

Hyt was tolde me beyonde the see, 

Thou haste another leman then me, 

All the gode that was thyn and myne, 

Thou haste geuyn hym, be seynt Martyn. 

Syr, as Cryste bryng me fro bale, 211 

Sche lyeth falsely that tolde the that tale ; 

Hyt was thy wyfe, that olde trate, 

That neuyr gode worde by me spake ; 

Were sche dedd (god lene hyt wolde!) 215 

Of the haue all my wylle y schulde ; 

Erly, late, lowde and stylle, 

Of the schulde y haue all my wylle : 



Ye schall see, so muste y the, 

That sche lyeth falsely on me. 220 

Sche leyde a canvas on the flore, 

Longe and large, styffe and store, 

Sche leyde theron, wythowten lyte, 

Fyfty schetys waschen whyte, 

Pecys of syluyr, masers of golde ; 225 

The marchand stode hyt to be holde : 

He put hyt in a wyde sakk, 

And leyde hyt on the hors bakk ; 

He bad hys chylde go belyue, 

And lede thys home to my wyue. 230 

The chylde on hys way ys gon, 

The marchande come aftyr anon ; 

He caste the pakk downe in the flore, 

Longe and large, styf and store, 

As hyt lay on the grounde, 235 

Hyt was wele worthe cccc pownde : 

They on dedyn the mouth aryght, 

There they sawe a ryall syght. 

Syr, sayde hys wyfe, be the rode, 

Where had ye all thys ryall gode ? 240 

Dame, he seyde, be goddys are, 

Here ys thy penyworth of ware ; 

Yf thou thynke hyt not wele besett, 

Gyf hyt another can be ware hytt bett ; 

All thys wyth thy peny boght y, 245 

And therfore y gyf hyt the frely ; 

Do wyth all what so euyr ye lyste, 

I wyll neuyr aske yow accowntys, be Cryste. 

The marchandys wyfe to hym can say, 

Why come ye home in so febull array ? 250 

Then seyde the marchand, sone ageyn, 

Wyfe, for to assay the in certeyn ; 

For at my lemman was y before, 

And sche by me sett lytyll store, 

And sche louyd bettyr my gode then me, 

And so wyfe dydd neuyr ye. 256 

To telle hys wyfe then he began, 

All that gode he had takyn fro hys lemman ; 

And all was becawse of thy peny, 

Therfore y gyf hyt the frely ; 260 

And y gyf god a vowe thys howre, 

Y wyll neuyr more have paramowre, 
But the, myn own derlyng and wyfe, 
Wyth the wyll y lede my lyfe. 

Thus the marchandys care be gan to kele, 
He lefte hys folye euery dele, 266 

And leuyd in clennesse and honeste ; 

Y pray god that so do we. 
God that ys of grete renowne, 

Saue all the gode folke of thys towne : 270 

Jesu, as thou art heuyn kynge, 

To the blys of heuyn owre soules brynge. 



468 



FAUSE FOODRAGE. 



Jfctttt fiwtoge. 



This ballad was originally published in the 
" Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," where 
it is stated to have been " chiefly given" from 
the MS. of Mrs. Brown, of Falkland.* Al- 

* " An ingenious lady," writes Sir Walter Scott, " to 
whose taste and memory the world is indebted." She was 
the youngest daughter of Mr. Thomas Gordon, professor 
of philosophy in King's College, Aberdeen; and the cir- 
cumstances, under which she obtained so much profi- 
ciency in ballad lore, are thus explained in a letter from 
her father to Alexander Fraser Tytler, Esq. : — " An aunt 
of my children, Mrs. Farquhar, now dead, who was mar- 
ried to the proprietor of a small estate, near the sources of 
the Dee, in Braemar, a good old woman, who had spent 
the best part of her life among flocks and herds, resided, 
in her later days, in the town of Aberdeen. She was pos- 
sessed of a most tenacious memory, which retained all the 
songs she had heard from nurses and countrywomen in 
that sequestered part of the country. Being naturally 
fond of my children, when young, she had them much 
about her, and delighted them with the songs and tales 
of chivalry. My youngest daughter, Mrs. Brown, of Falk- 
land, is blessed with as good a memory as her aunt, and 
has almost the whole of her songs by heart." They were 
subsequently written down by her nephew, Professor 
Scott, " as his aunt sung them." To this MS. reference is 
frequently made by the editor of the " Border Minstrelsy," 
— " as containing a curious and valuable collection," from 
which he procured " very material assistance," and which 
often furnished him with " various readings, and supple- 
mentary stanzas," to such as were known on the Borders. 
Jamieson, also, thus acknowledges his obligations to this 
lady : — " For the groundwork of this collection, and for the 
greater and more valuable part of the popular and roman- 
tic tales which it contains, the public are indebted to Mrs. 
Brown, of Falkland. Besides the large supply of ballads 
taken down from her own recitation many years ago, by 
Professor Scott, of Aberdeen, — in 1800, I paid an unex- 
pected visit to Mrs. Brown, at Dysart, where she then 
happened to be for health, and wrote down, from her un- 
premeditated repetition, about a dozen pieces more, most 
of which will be found in my work. Several others, 
which I had not time to take down, were afterwards 
transmitted to me by Mrs. Brown herself, and by her late 
highly-respectable and worthy husband, the Reverend Dr. 
Brown. Every person, who peruses the following sheets, 
will see how much I owe to Mrs. Brown, and to her ne- 
phew, my much esteemed friend, Professor Scott; and it 
rests with me to feel that I owe them much more for the 
zeal and spirit which they have manifested, than even for 
the valuable communications which they have made. As 
to. the ' authenticity' of the pieces themselves, they are as 
authentic as traditionary poetry can be expected to be; 
and their being more entire than most other such pieces 
are found to be, may be easily accounted for, from the cir- 
cumstance, that there are few persons of Mrs. Brown's abi- 
lities and education who repeat popular ballads from me- 
mory. She learnt most of them before she was twelve 
years old, from old women and maid-servants. What she 
once learnt she never forgot ; and such were her curiosity 
and industry, that she was not contented with merely 
knowing the story, according to one way of telling, but 
studied to acquire all the varieties of the same tale which 
she could meet with." 



though there can be no question that it re- 
ceived many improvements in passing through 
the hands of the accomplished editor, there 
can be as little doubt of its antiquity in some 
ruder state; for Sir Walter Scott and Mr. 
Motherwell both affirm that it has been "popu- 
lar in many parts of Scotland ;" and by the 
former it is asserted, that he had made " strict 
inquiry into the authenticity of the song," in 
consequence of a line, in verse 31, strongly 
resembling one that occurs in the avowedly 
modern ballad of " Hardyknute,"— 

Norse e'en like grey goss-hawk stared wild. 

His doubts were removed by the evidence 
of a lady of rank (Lady Douglas, of Dou- 
glas, sister to the Duke of Buccleuch), who 
not only recollected the ballad as having 
amused her infancy, but could repeat many 
of the verses. 

For the leading incident of the poem, and 
the beautiful episode introduced into it — the 
exchange of the children, upon which the 
story is made to depend — there appears to be 
no historical authority. At least, Sir Walter 
Scott has referred to none ; and if there had 
been any, it would not have escaped his 
search. Yet it is not improbable that some 
such circumstance did actually occur ; the 
old ballad-makers were seldom mere inven- 
tors ; and tragedy, with all its attendant 
events, may be considered as by no means 
rare or uncommon to a remote age. That its 
age is " remote" is rendered certain, by the 
references to King Easter and King Wester ; 
who, it is surmised by Sir Walter Scott, were 
" petty princes of Northumberland and West- 
moreland. From this," he adds, " it may be 
conjectured, with some degree of plausibility, 
that the independent kingdoms of the east 
and west coast were, at an early period, thus 
denominated, according to the Saxon mode 
of naming districts from their relative posi- 
tions, as Essex, Wessex, Sussex." In the 
" Complaynt of Scotland," mention is made 
of an ancient romance, entitled, " How the 
King of Estmureland married the King's 
daughter of Westmureland." But Mr. Rit- 
son is of opinion, that — "Estmureland and 
Westmureland have no sort of relation to 



FAUSE FOODRAGE. 



469 



Northumberland and Westmoreland. The 
former was never called Eastmoreland, nor 
were there any kings of Westmoreland, un- 
less we admit the authority of an old rhyme, 
cited by Usher ; — 

Here the King Westmer 
Slew the King Rothinger. 

In the old metrical romance of " Kyng 
Horn," or " Horn Child," we find both West- 
nesse and Estnesse ; and it is somewhat sin- 
gular, that two places, so called, actually ex- 
ist in Yorkshire at this day. But " ness," 
in that quarter, is the name given to an in- 
let from a river. There is, however, great 
confusion in this poem, as " Horn" is called 
king, sometimes of one country, and some- 
times of the other. In the French original, 
Westir is said to have been the old name of 
Hirland or Ireland; which, occasionally at 
least, is called Westnesse in the translation, 
in which Britain is named Sudene ; but here, 
again, it is inconsistent and confused. It is, 
at any rate," adds the learned antiquary, 
" highly probable, that the story, cited in the 
' Complaynt of Scotland/ was a romance of 
' King Horn,' whether prose or verse ; and, 
consequently, that Estmureland and West- 
mureland should there mean England and 
Ireland ; though it is possible that no other 
instance can be found of these two names 
occurring with the same sense." 

Of the Scottish origin of this ballad there 
is internal evidence ; and several of the 
phrases made use of, besides the titles to 
which we have referred, afford corroborative 
proof of its antiquity. The term " kevil," 
used in the third verse, — 

And they cast kevils them amang, 

And kevils them between ; 
And they cast kevils them amang, 

Wha suld gae kill the king, — 

Is thus explained by Sir Walter Scott, — 
" 'Kevils'— lots. Both words originally meant 
only a portion or share of any thing. — Leges 
Burgorum, cap. 59, de lot, cut, or kavil. Sla- 
tua Gildce, cap. 20. Nullus emat lanam, &c, 
nisi fuerit confrater Gildce, &c. Neque lot 
neque cavil habeat cum aliquo contratre nos- 
tro. In both these laws, ' lot' and ' cavil' 
signify a share in trade." 



King Easter has courted her for her lands, 

King Wester for her fee, 
King Honour for her comelye face, 

And for her fair bodie. 

They had not been four months married, 5 

As I have heard them tell, 
Until the nobles of the land 

Against them did rebel. 

And they cast kevils them amang, 

And kevils them between ; 10 

And they cast kevils them amang, 
Wha suld gae kill the king. 

some said yea, and some said nay, 

Their words did not agree ; 
Till up and got him, Fause Foodrage, 15 

And swore it suld be he. 

When bells were rung, and mass was sung, 

And a' men bound to bed, 
King Honour and his gaye ladye 

In a hie chamber were laid. 20 

Then up and raise him, Fause Foodrage, 

When a' were fast asleep, 
And slew the porter in his lodge, 

That watch and ward did keep. 

0, four and twenty silver keys 25 

Hung hie upon a pin : 
And aye, as ae door he did unlock, 

He has fastened it him behind. 

Then up and raise him, King Honour, 

Says — " What means a' this din ? 30 

Or what's the matter, Fause Foodrage, 
Or wha has loot you in ?" — ■ 

" O ye my errand weel sail learn 

Before that I depart." — 
Then drew a knife, baith lang and sharp, 35 

And pierced him to the heart. 

Then up and got the queen hersell, 
And fell low down on her knee ; 

" O spare my life, now, Fause Foodrage, 
For I never injured thee. 40 

" O spare my life, now, Fause Foodrage, 

Until I lighter be ! 
And see gin it be lad or lass, 

King Honour has left wi' me." — 



470 



FAUSE FOODRAGE. 



" gin it be a lass," he says, 45 

" Weel nursed it sail be ; 
But gin it be a lad bairn, 

He sail be hanged hie. 

" I winna spare for his tender age, 
Nor yet for his hie hie kin ; 50 

But soon as e'er he born is, 

He sail mount the gallows pin." — 

four-and-twenty valiant knights 

Were set the queen to guard ; 
And four stood aye at her bouir door, 55 

To keep both watch and ward. 

But when the time drew near an end, 

That she suld lighter be, 
She cast about to find a wile, 

To set her body free. 60 

she has birled these merry young men 

With the ale but and the wine, 
Until they were a' deadly drunk 

As any wild-wood swine. 

" narrow, narrow, is this window, 65 

And big, big, am I grown !" — 
Yet through the might of our Ladye, 

Out at it she has gone. 

She wandered up, she wandered down, 
She wandered out and in ; 70 

And, at last, into the very swine's stythe, 
The queen brought forth a son. 

Then they cast kevils them amang, 
Which suld gae seek the queen ; 

And the kevil fell upon Wise William, 75 
And he sent his wife for him. 

when she saw Wise William's wife, 

The queen fell on her knee ; 
" Win up, win up, madam !" she says : 

" What needs this courtesie ?" — 80 

" O out o' this I winna rise, 

Till a boon ye grant to me ; 
To change your lass for this lad bairn, 

King Honour left me wi'. 

" And ye maun learn my gay goss-hawk 85 

Right weel to breast a steed ; 
And I sail learn your turtle dow 

As weel to write and read. 



" And ye maun learn my gay goss-hawk 
To wield baith bow and brand ; 90 

And I sail learn your turtle dow 
To lay gowd wi' her hand. 

" At kirk and market when we meet, 
We'll dare make nae avowe, 94 

But — Dame, how does my gay goss-hawk ? 
— Madame, how does my dow ?"* 

When days were gane, and years came on, 

Wise William he thought lang ; 
And he has ta'en King Honour's son 

A-hunting for to gang. 100 

It sae fell out, at this hunting, 

Upon a simmer's day, 
That they came by a fair castell, 

Stood on a sunny brae. 

" O dinna ye see that bonny castell, 105 

Wi' halls and towers sae fair ? 
Gin ilka man had back his ain, 

Of it you suld be heir." — 

" How I suld be heir of that castell. 

In sooth, I canna see ; 110 

For it belangs to Fause Foodrage, 

And he is na kin to me." 

" O gin ye suld kill him, Fause Foodrage, 
You would do but what was right ; 

For, I wot, he killed your father dear, 115 
Or ever ye saw the light. 

" And gin ye suld kill him, Fause Foodrage, 
There is no man durst you blame ; 

For he keeps your mother a prisoner, 

And she daurna take ye harne." — 120 

* " This metaphorical language," says Scott, " was cus- 
tomary among the northern nations. In 925, King Adel- 
stein sent an embassy to Harald Harfager, King of Nor- 
way, the chief of which presented that prince with a 
sword. As it was presented by the point, the Norwegian 
chief, in receiving it, unwarily laid hold of the hilt. The 
English ambassador declared, in the name of his maste^ 
that he accepted the act as a deed of homage. The Nor- 
wegian prince resolving to circumvent his rival by a simi- 
lar artifice, sent, next summer, an ambassy to Adelstein, 
the chief of which presented Haco, the son of Harald, to the 
English prince; and placing him on his knees, made the 
following declaration : — ' Haraldus, Normanorum Rex, 
amice te satutat; albamque hanc avem bene institutam mittit 
utque melius deinceps erudias, postulat.' The King received 
young ilaco on his knees, which the Norwegian accepted, 
in the name of his master, as a declaration of inferiority ; 
according to the proverb, ' Is minor semper habetur, qui 
alterius filium educat,'" 



SIR AGILTIIORN. 



471 



The boy stared wild like a grey goss-hawk, 
Says, — " What may a' this mean ?" 

" My boy, ye are King Honour's son, 
And your mother's our lawful queen." 

" gin I be King Honour's son, 125 

By our Ladye I swear, 
This night I will that traitor slay, 

And relieve my mother dear !" — 

He has set his bent bow to his breast, 

And leaped the castell wa' ; 130 



And soon he has seized on Fause Foodrage, 
Wha loud for help 'gan ca'. 

"0 haud your tongue, now, Fause Foodrage, 

Frae me ye shanna flee;" — 
Syne pierced him through the fause, fause 
heart, 135 

And set his mother free. 

And he has rewarded Wise William 

Wi' the best half o' his land; 
And sae has he the turtle dow, 

Wi' the truth 0' his right hand. 140 



Sir ;|giltjj0rn. 



This ballad is the production of Matthew 
Gregory Lewis ; and our principal motive in 
introducing it into this collection is to supply 
an example of his compositions, for its merits 
are not such as to warrant the selection upon 
other grounds. His writings, although now 
nearly forgotten, had, at one period, no incon- 
siderable influence upon the literature of the 
age ; the success that attended his publica- 
tions induced a host of imitators, and, for 
awhile, his " school" may be almost said to 
have formed the taste of the country. But 
the unnatural will always be the ephemeral ; 
and that which is not based upon Truth, 
Time will be certain to destroy. With the 
exception of two or three of his more roman- 
tic ballads — "Alonzo the Brave and Fair 
Imogene," and, perhaps, " Osric the Lion" — 
the poems of Lewis are as completely con- 
signed to oblivion as if they had never been 
printed ; even his vain and useless " Ro- 
mances," which have passed through nume- 
rous editions, are now seldom read ; and are 
republished only by caterers for the meretri- 
cious or the vicious. Merit of a particular 
order he undoubtedly had ; public attention 
is never obtained, even for a season, without 
it ; but his works possessed very little of real 
value, and the world has lost nothing by the 
obscurity into which they have sunk. He 
was " the first to introduce something like 
the German taste into English fictitious, dra- 
matic, and poetical composition ;" and no less 
an authority than Sir Walter Scott considers 
60 



that he did service to our literature by show- 
ing, that "the prevailing taste of Germany 
might be employed as a formidable auxiliary 
to renewing the spirit of our own, upon the 
same system as when medical persons at- 
tempt, by the transfusion of blood, to pass into 
the veins of an aged and exhausted patient, 
the vivacity of the circulation and liveliness of 
sensation which distinguish a young subject." 
It is certain, that at the period in which he 
"flourished," English literature had become 
sluggish, inert, and comparatively valueless ; 
while " the realms of Parnassus," more espe- 
cially, seemed to lie open to the first bold in- 
vader, whether he should be a daring usurper, 
orcould showalegitimate title of sovereignty.* 
Lewis was " born to fortune ;" his father held 
the lucrative appointment of under-secretary 
at war ; and he was himself a member of 
parliament as soon as his age permitted him 
to occupy a seat. During a residence in 
Germany, he had opportunities of indulging 
his inclination for the marvellous ; and he and 



* " Lewis was a martinet, if I may so term him, in the 
accuracy of rhymes and of numbers ; I may add he had a 
right to be so, for few persons have exhibited more mas- 
tery of rhyme, or greater command over the melody of 
verse." * * * * " His works were admired, and the 
author became famous, not merely through his own 
merit, though that was of no mean quality, but because he 
had in some measure taken the public by surprise, by 
using a style of composition, which, like national melo- 
dies, is so congenial to the general taste, that though it 
palls by being much hackneyed, it has only to be for a 
short time forgotten in r rder to recover its original popu- 
larity." — Sir Walter Scott. 



472 



SIR AGILTHORN. 



his imitators, towards the close of the last 
century, absolutely flooded the libraries of 
Great Britain with their tales of enchantment 
and diablerie, in poetry and prose. Lewis's 
publications are the romances of " The 
Monk," " Feudal Tyrants/' and " Romantic 
Tales ;" " Tales of Wonder" and " Tales of 
Terror," in verse ; " The Castle Spectre" and 
" Adelmorn," romantic dramas; "Venoni," 
a tragedy ; a volume of miscellaneous poetry, 
and the "Bravo of Venice," a translation 
from the German. He died in 1818, while 
on his voyage home from a visit to his patri- 
monial property in Jamaica. An idle story 
has been circulated, that his death was occa- 
sioned by poison, administered to him by a 
negro whom he had incautiously acquainted 
with his intention to emancipate the whole 
of his slaves at his decease. 

His volumes of ballads, " Tales of Won- 
der" and " Tales of Terror," were compara- 
tive failures ; to the first, Sir Walter Scott, 
Southey, Leyden, and others, contributed, and 
their contributions sufficed to give value to 
the work. It was published in 1801, " for 
the . author." Lewis, however, was tempted 
to "drive it out" into two volumes, royal 8vo., 
which were sold at a high price. " Pur- 
chasers murmured at finding this size had 
been attained by the insertion of some of the 
best known pieces of the English language, 
such as Dryden's ' Theodore and Honoria/ 
Parnell's ' Hermit/ Lisle's ' Porsenna, King 
of Russia/ and many other popular poems 
of old date, and generally known, which ought 
not in conscience to have made part of a set 
of tales, ' written and collected' by a modern 
author." The consequence was, that the 
costly and weighty volumes met with little or 
no public approval. What had been at first 
received as simple and natural, was now 
sneered at as puerile and extravagant. "An- 
other objection was," adds Sir Walter Scott, 
" that my friend Lewis had a high but mis- 
taken opinion of his own powers of humour. 
The truth was, that though he could throw 
some gayety into his lighter pieces, after the 
manner of the French writers, his attempts 
at what is called pleasantry in English wholly 
wanted the quality of humour, and were 
generally failures. But this he would not 
allow ; and the ' Tales of Wonder' were filled, 
in a sense, with attempts at comedy, which 
might be generally accounted abortive." 



One important consequence, at least, fol- 
lowed this introduction of a new style into 
our literature; to his acquaintance with Lewis 
we are probably indebted for the vast store- 
house of wealth bequeathed to us by Sir 
Walter Scott. " Finding Lewis," he says, 
" in possession of so much reputation, and 
conceiving that if I fell behind him in poeti- 
cal powers, I considerably exceeded him in 
general information, I suddenly took it into 
my head to attempt the style of poetry by 
which he had raised himself to fame ;" and, 
he adds, " out of an accidental acquaintance" 
with the popular author, which " increased 
into a sort of intimacy, consequences arose 
which altered almost all the Scottish ballad- 
maker's future prospects in life." He was 
first stimulated to the translation of some 
German ballads ; and soon acquired confi- 
dence to attempt " the imitation of what he 
admired." Lewis had, about this period, 
announced the publication of a work, the 
title of which sufficiently indicates its cha- 
racter — " Tales of Wonder," — and to this 
work Scott readily agreed to contribute. It 
was published in two volumes, in the year 
1801; and contained, among others, the bal- 
lads of " Glenfinlas" and the " Eve of Saint 
John," by Sir Walter — compositions which 
he can scarcely be said to have afterwards 
surpassed. The encouragement the young 
author here met with, led to the collection 
and subsequent publication of the " Min- 
strelsy of the Scottish Border," originally 
printed by James Ballantyne, at Kelso. What 
"great events from little causes flow !" — pos- 
sibly if " Monk Lewis" had never existed as 
a versifier, the genius of Scott might have 
been directed into some less serviceable chan- 
nel ; for, mainly out of the trivial circum- 
stances here briefly recorded, he "gradually, 
and almost insensibly, engaged himself in 
that species of literary employment" — "mo- 
dern imitations of the ancient ballad." 

Oh! gentle huntsman, softly tread, 
And softly wind thy bugle-horn ; 

Nor rudely break the silence shed 
Around the grave of Agilthorn ! 

Oh ! gentle huntsman, if a tear 5 

E'er dimmed for others' woe thine eyes, 

Thou'lt surely dew, with drops sincere, 
The sod where lady Eva lies. 



SIR AGILTIIORN. 



473 



Yon crumbling chapel's sainted bound 9 
Their hands and hearts beheld them plight ; 

Long held yon towers, with ivy crowned, 
The beauteous dame and gallant knight. 

Alas ! the hour of bliss is past, 

For hark ! the din of discord rings : 14 
War's clarion sounds, Joy hears the blast, 

And trembling plies his radiant wings. 

And must sad Eva lose her lord ? 

And must he seek the martial. plain? 
Oh ! see, she brings his casque and sword ; 

Oh ! hark, she pours her plaintive strain ! 

" Blessed is the village damsel's fate, 21 

Though poor and low her station be ; 

Safe from the cares which haunt the great, 
Safe from the cares which torture me ! 

" No doubting fear, no cruel pain, 25 

No dread suspense her breast alarms ; 

No tyrant honour rules her swain, 
And tears him from her folding arms. 

" She, careless wandering 'midst the rocks, 
In pleasing toil consumes the day ; 30 

And tends her goats, or feeds her flocks, 
Or joins her rustic lover's lay. 

" Though hard her couch, each sorrow flies 
The pillow which supports her head ; 

She sleeps, nor fears at morn her eyes 35 
Shall wake, to mourn a husband dead. 

" Hush, impious fears ! the good and brave 
Heaven's arm will guard from danger free; 

When death with thousands gluts the grave, 
His dart, my love, shall glance from thee ; 

" While thine shall fly direct and sure, 41 

This buckler every blow repel ; 
This casque from wounds that face secure, 

Where all the loves and graces dwell. 

" This glittering scarf, with tenderest care, 
My hands in happier moments wove ; 46 

Cursed be the wretch, whose sword shall tear 
The spell-bound work of wedded love ! 

" Lo ! on thy falchion keen and bright, 
I shed a trembling consort's tears ; 50 

Oh ! when their traces meet thy sight, 
Remember wretched Eva's fears ! 



" Think how thy lips she fondly pressed, 
Think how she wept — compelled to part ; 

Think every wound which scars thy breast, 
Is doubly marked on Eva's heart!" — 56 

" thou ! my mistress, wife, and friend I" — 
Thus Agilthorn with sighs began ; 

" Thy fond complaints my bosom rend, 
Thy tears my fainting soul unman : 60 

" In pity cease, my gentle dame, 

Such sweetness and such grief to join ! 

Lest I forget the voice of Fame, 
And only list to Love's and thine. 

" Flow, flow, my tears, unbounded gush ! 65 
Rise, rise, my sobs, I set ye free : 

Bleed, bleed, my heart ! I need not blush 
To own that life is dear to me. 

" The wretch whose lips have pressed the 
bowl, 

The bitter howl of pain and woe, 70 

May careless reach his mortal goal, 

May boldly meet the final blow : 

" His hopes destroyed, his comfort wrecked, 
A happier life he hopes to find ; 

But what can I in heaven expect, 75 

Beyond the bliss I leave behind ? 

" Oh, no ! the joys of yonder skies, 
To prosperous love present no charms ; 

My heaven is placed in Eva's eyes, 

My paradise in Eva's arms. 80 

" Yet mark me, sweet ! if Heaven's command, 
Hath doomed my fall in martial strife, 

Oh ! let not anguish tempt thy hand 
To rashly break the thread of life ! 

" No ! let our boy thy care engross, 85 

Let him thy stay, thy comfort be ; 

Supply his luckless father's loss, 
And love him for thyself and me. 

" So may oblivion soon efface 

The grief which clouds this fatal morn; 
And soon thy cheeks afford no trace 91 

Of tears which fall for Agilthorn !" 

He said ; and couched his quivering lance : 
He said ; and braced his moony shield : — 

Sealed a last kiss, threw a last glance, 95 
Then spurred his steed to Flodden Field. 



474 



SIR AGILTHORN. 



But Eva, of all joy bereft, 

Stood rooted at the castle gate, 
And viewed the prints his courser left, 

While hurrying at the call of fate. 100 

Forebodings sad her bosom told, 

The steed which bore him thence so light, 
Her longing eyes would ne'er behold 

Again bring home her own true knight. 

While many a sigh her bosom heaves, 105 
She thus addressed her orphan page : — 

" Dear youth, if e'er my love relieved 
The sorrows of thy infant age : 

" If e'er I taught thy locks to play 
Luxuriant round thy blooming face ; 110 

If e'er I wiped thy tears awAy, 

And bade them yield to smiles their place : 

" Oh ! speed thee, swift as steed can bear, 
Where Flodden groans with heaps of dead ; 

And o'er the combat, home repair, 115 

And tell me how my lord has sped. 

" Till thou return'st each hour's an age, 
An age employed in doubt and pain ; 

Oh ! haste thee, haste, my little foot-page, 
Oh ! haste and soon return again." 120 

" Now, lady dear, thy grief assuage, 
Good tidings soon shall ease thy pain ; 

I'll haste, I'll haste, thy little foot-page, 
I'll haste, and soon return again." 

Then Osway bade his courser fly ; 125 

But still, while hapless Eva wept, 

Time scarcely seemed his wings to ply, 
So slow the tedious moments crept. 

And oft she kissed her baby's cheek, 

Who slumbered on her throbbing breast ; 

And now she bade the warder speak, 131 
And now she lulled her child to rest. 

" Good warder, say, what meets thy sight ? 

What see'st from the castle tower ?" 
" Nought but the rocks of Elginbright, 135 

Nought but the shades of Forest-Bower." 

" Oh, pretty babe ! thy mother's joy, 
Pledge of the purest, fondest flame, 

To-morrow's sun, dear helpless boy, 
May see thee bear an orphan's name. 140 



" Perhaps, e'en now, some Scottish sword 
The life-blood of thy father drains ; 

Perhaps, e'en now, that heart is gored, 
Whose streams supplied thy little veins. 

" O, warder, from the castle tower, 145 

Now say what objects meet thy sight?" 

" None but the shades of Forest-Bower, 
None but the rocks of Elginbright." 

" Smil'st thou, my babe ? so smiled thy sire, 
When, gazing on his Eva's face, 150 

His eyes shot beams of gentle fire, 

And joyed such beams in mine to trace. 

" Sleep, sleep, my babe ! of care devoid : 
Thy mother breathes this fervent vow — 

Oh, never be thy soul employed 155 

On thoughts so sad as hers are now ! 

" Now, warder, warder, speak again ! 

What seest thou from the turret's height !" 
" Oh, lady, speeding o'er the plain, 

The little foot-page appears in sight !" 1G0 

Quick beat her heart, short grew her breath ; 

Close to her breast the babe she drew — 
" Now, heaven," she cried, " for life or death !" 

And forth to meet the page she flew. 

"And is thy lord from danger free? 165 

And is the deadly combat o'er ?" — 

In silence Osway bent his knee, 
And laid a scarf her feet before. 

The well-known scarf with blood was stained, 
And tears from Osway's eyelids fell ; 170 

Too truly Eva's heart explained, 

What meant those silent tears to tell. 

" Come, come, my babe !" she wildly cried, 
"We needs must seek the field of woe: 

Come, come, my babe ! cast fear aside ! 175 
To dig thy father's grave we go." 

" Stay, lady, stay ! a storm impends ; 

Lo ! threatening clouds the sky o'erspread ; 
The thunder roars, the rain descends, 179 

And lightning streaks the heavens with Ted. 

" Hark, hark, the winds tempestuous rave ! 

Oh ! be thy dread intent resigned ! 
Or, if resolved the storm to brave, 

Be this dear infant left behind I" 



THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM THUMBE. 



475 



" No, no ! with me my baby stays ! 185 

With me he lives ; with me he dies ! 

Flash, lightnings, flash ! your friendly blaze 
Will shew me where my warrior lies." 

see she roams the bloody field, 

And wildly shrieks her husband's name : 

see she stops and eyes a shield, 191 

A heart the symbol, wrapt in flame. 

His armour broke in many a place, 

A knight lay stretched that shield beside ; 

She raised his vizor, kissed his face, 195 
Then on his bosom sunk and died. 

Huntsman, their rustic grave behold : 
'Tis here, at night, the fairy king, 

Where sleeps the fair, where sleeps the bold, 
Oft forms his light fantastic ring. 200 



'Tis here, at eve, each village youth 
With freshest flowers the turf adorns ; 

'Tis here he swears eternal truth, 
By Eva's faith and Agilthorn's. 

And here the virgins sadly tell, 205 

Each seated by her shepherd's side, 

How brave the gallant warrior fell, 
How true his lovely lady died. 

Ah ! gentle huntsman, pitying hear, 

And mourn the gentle lovers' doom ! 210 

Oh ! gentle hunstman, drop a tear, 
And dew the turf of Eva's tomb. 

So ne'er may fate thy hopes oppose ; 

So ne'er may grief to thee be known ; 
They who can weep for others' woes, 215 

Should ne'er have cause to weep their own. 



%\t 'gift rafo grail] of to ^^ntk. 



It is needless to mention the popularity of 
the following story. Every city, town, vil- 
lage, shop, stall, man, woman, and child, in 
the kingdom, can bear witness to it. Its an- 
tiquity, however, remains to be inquired into, 
more especially as no very ancient edition of 
it has been discovered. That which was 
made use of on the present occasion bears 
the following title : " Tom Thumbe, his life 
and death : wherein is declared many mar- 
uailous acts of manhood, full of wonder, and 
strange merriments. Which little knight 
lived in king Arthurs time, and famous in 
the court of Great Brittaine. London, print- 
ed for John Wright. 1630." It is a small 
8vo. in black letter, was given, among many 
other curious pieces, by Kobert Burton, 
author of the Anatomy of Melancholy, to 
the Bodleian Library (Seld. Art. L. 79.), and 
is the oldest copy known to be extant. There 
is a later edition, likewise in black letter, 
printed for F. Coles, and others, in Antony 
a Wood's collection, which has been collated, 
as has also a different copy, printed for some 
of the same proprietors, in the editor's posses- 
sion. All three are ornamented with curious 
cuts, representing the most memorable inci- 



dents of our hero's life. They are likewise 
divided into chapters by short prose argu- 
ments, which, being always unnecessary, and 
sometimes improper, as occasioning an inter- 
ruption of the narrative, are here omitted. 

In Ben Jonson's Masque of the Fortunate 
Isles, designed for the Court, on the Twelfth 
Night, 1626, Skelton, one of the characters, 
after mentioning Elinor Kumming, and 
others, says 

Or you may have come 
In, Thomas Thumb, 
In a pudding fat, 
With Doctor Rat. 

Then " The Antimasque follows : consisting 
of these twelve persons, Owl-glass, the four 
Knaves, two Ruffians, Fitz-Ale, and Vapor, 
Elinor Rumming, Mary Ambree, Lang Meg 
of Westminster, Tom Thumb, and Doctor 
Rat."* 

Five years before there had appeared "The 
History of Tom Thumbe, the Little, for his 



* Works, by Whalley, vi. 195. " Doctor Rat, the curate," 
is one of the Dramatis Persona in "Gammar Gurton'g 

Needle." 



476 



THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM THUMBE. 



small stature surnamed King Arthur's 
Dwarfe : Whose Life and adventures containe 
many strange and wonderful accidents, pub- 
lished for the delight of merry Time-spenders. 
Imprinted at London for Tho. Langley, 1G21, 
(12mo. bl. 1.)" This, however, was only the 
common metrical story turned into prose 
with some foolish additions by R. I. [Richard 
Johnson.] The Preface or Introductory 
Chapter is as follows, being indeed the only 
part of the book that deserves notice. 

" My merry Muse begets no Tales of Guy 
of Warwicke, nor of bould Sir Beuis of Hamp- 
ton ; nor will I trouble my penne with the 
pleasant glee of Robin Hood, little Iohn, the 
Fryer and his Marian ; nor will I call to 
minde the lusty Pindar of "Wakefield, nor 
those bold Yeomen of the North, Adam Bell, 
Clem of the Clough, nor William of Clou- 
desly, those ancient archers of all England, 
nor shal my story be made of the mad merry 
pranckes of Tom of Bethlem, Tom Lincolne, 
or Tom a Lin, the Diuels supposed Bastard, 
nor yet of Garagantua that monster of men,* 

but Of AN OLDER ToM, A ToM OF MORE ANTI- 
QUITY, a Tom of a strange making, I meane 
Little Tom of Wales, no bigger than a Millers 
Thumbe, and therefore for his small stature, 

surnamed Tom Thumbe The ancient 

Tales of Tom Thumbe in the olde time, 
haue beene the only reuiuers of drowzy age 
at midnight; old and young haue with his 
Tales chim'd Mattens till the cocks crow in 
the morning ; Batchelors and Maides with his 
Tales haue compassed the Christmas fire- 
blocke, till the Curfew-Bell rings candle out; 
the old Shepheard and the young Plow boy 
after their dayes labour, haue carold out a 
Tale of Tom Thumbe to make them merry 
with: and who but little Tom, hath made 
long nights seem short, and heauy toyles 
easie ? Therefore (gentle Reader) considering 
that old modest mirth is turned naked out of 
doors, while nimble wit in the great Hall sits 
vpon a soft cushion giuing dry bobbes ; for 
which cause I will, if I can new cloath him 
in his former liuery, and bring him againe 
into the Chimney Corner, where now you 



* This is scarcely true; the titles of the two last chap- 
ters being, 1. " How Tom Thumbe riding forth to take the 
ayre, met with the great Garagantua, and of the speech 
that was betweene them." 2. " How Tom Thumbe after 
conference had with great Garagantua returned, and how 
he met with King Twadk." 



must imagine me to sit by a good fire, 
amongst a company of good fellowes oner a 
well spic'd Wassel-bowle of Christmas Ale 
telling of these merry Tales which hereafter 
follow." This is in the editor's possession. 

In the panegyric verses (by Michael Dray- 
ton and others) upon Tom Coryate and his 
Crudities, London, 1611, 4to., our hero is 
thus introduced, along with a namesake, of 
whom, unfortunately, we know nothing fur- 
ther: 

"Tom Thumbe is dumbe, vntill the pudding 

creepe, 
"In which he was intomb'd, then out doth 

peepe. 
" Tom Pifer is gone out, and mirth bewailes, 
"He neuer will come in to tell vs tales."* 

We are unable to trace our little hero above 
half a century further back, when we find 
him still popular, indeed, but, to our great 
mortification, in very bad company. "In our 
childhood (says honest Reginald Scot) our 
mothers maids haue so terrified vs with an 
ouglie diuell. . . and haue so fraied vs with 
bull beggers, spirits, witches, vrchens, clues, 
hags, fairies, satyrs, pans, faunes, sylens, kit 
with the cansticke, tritons, centaurs, dwarfes, 
giants, imps, calcars, coniurors, nymphes, 
changlings, incubus, Robin good-fellow, the 
spoorne, the mare, the man in the oke, the 
belle-waine, the firedrake, the puckle, Tom 
Thombe, hob-gobblin, Tom tumbler, boncles, 
and such other bugs, that we are afraide of 
our owne shadowes."! 

To these researches we shall only add the 
opinion of that eminent antiquary Mr. 
Thomas Hearne, that this History, "how- 
ever looked upon as altogether fictitious, yet 
was certainly founded upon some authen- 
tick History, as being nothing else, origi- 
nally, but a description of King Edgar's 
dwarf. "J 



* In a different part of the work we find other charac- 
ters mentioned, whose story is now, perhaps, irretrievably 
forgot : 

I am not now to tell a tale 

Of George a Green, or Iaclce a Yale, 

Or yet of Chittiface. 

f Discouerie of Witchcraft. London, 1584, 4to. p. 1,15. 
See also Arehb. Harsnet's Declaration of Popish Impos- 
ture. Ibi. 1604, 4to. p. 135. 

%Benedictus Abbas, Appendix ad Prcefationem, p. lt. 
Mr. Hearne was probably led to fix upon this monarch by 



THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM TIIUMBE. 



477 



In Arthurs court Tom Thumbe did Hue, 

A man of mickle might, 
The best of all the table round, 

And eke a doughty knight : 

His stature but an inch in height, 

Or quarter of a span ; 
Then thinke you not this little knight, 

Was prou'd a valiant man ? 

His father was a plow-man plaine, 

His mother milkt the cow, 
But yet the way to get a sonne 

'This' couple knew not how, 

Untill such time this good old man 

To learned Merlin goes, 
And there to him his deepe desires 

In secret manner showes, 

How in his heart he wisht to haue 

A childe, in time to come, 
To be his heire, though it might be 

No bigger than his Thumbe. 

Of which old Merlin thus foretold, 
That he his wish should haue, 

And so this sonne of stature small 
The charmer to him gaue. 



10 



15 



20 



25 



No blood nor bones in him should be. 

In shape and being such, 
That men should heare him speake, but not 

His wandring shadow touch: 

But so vnseene to goe or come 

Whereas it pleasd him still ; 30 

Begot and borne in halfe an houre, 

To fit his fathers- will. 

And in foure minutes grew so fast, 

That he became so tall 
As was the plowmans thumbe in height, 35 

And so they did him call 

Ver. 12, these. 

some ridiculous lines added, about his own time, to intro- 
duce a spurious second and third part. See the common 
editions of Aldermary church-yard, &c, or that entitled 
" Thomas Redivivus : or, a compleat history of the life and 
marvellous actions of Tom Thumb. In three tomes. In- 
terspersed with that ingenious comment of the late Dr. 
Wagstaff; and annotations by several hands. To which 
is prefix'd historical and critical remarks on the life aud 
writings of the author." London, 1729, folio. Dr. Wag- 
statT's comment was written to ridicule that of Mr. Addi- 
son, in the Spectator, upon the ballad of Chevy-Chase, aud 
is inserted in his works. 



Tom Thumbe, the which the Fayry-QueeBe 

There gave him to his name, 
Who, with her traine of Goblins grim, 

Vnto his christning came. 40 

Whereas she cloath'd him richly braue, 

In garments fine and faire, 
Which lasted him for many yeares 

In seemely sort to weare. 

His hat made of an oaken leafe, 45 

His shirt a spiders web, 
Both light and soft for those his limbes 

That were so smally bred ; 

His hose and doublet thistle downe, 

Togeather weau'd full fine ; 50 

His stockins of an apple greene, 
Made of the outward rine ; 

His garters were two little haires, 

PulFd from his mothers eye, 
His bootes and shoes a mouses skin, 55 

There tand most curiously. 

Thus, like a lustie gallant, he 

Aduentured forth to goe, 
With other children in the streets 

His pretty trickes to show. 60 

Where he for counters, pinns, and points, 

And cherry stones did play, 
Till he amongst those gamesters young 

Had loste his stocke away. 

Yet could he soone renue the same, 65 

When as most nimbly he 
Would diue into 'their' cherry -baggs, 

And there 'partaker' be, 

Unseene or felt by any one, 

Vntill a scholler shut 70 

This nimble youth into a boxe, 

Wherein his pins he put. 

Of whom to be reueng'd, he tooke 

(In mirth and pleasant game) 
Black pots, and glasses, which he hung 75 

Vpon a bright sunne-beame. 

The other boyes to doe the like, 

In pieces broke them quite ; 
For which they were most soundly whipt, 

Whereat he laught outright. 80 

Ver. 67, the. V. 68, a taker. 



478 



THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM TIIUMBE. 



And so Tom Thumbe restrained was 

From these his sports and play, 
And by his mother after that 

Compel'd at home to stay. 

Whereas about a Christmas time, 85 

His father a hog had kil'd, 
And Tom 'would' see the puddings made, 

'For fear' they should be spil'd. 

He sate vpon the pudding-boule, 

The candle for to hold ; 90 

Of which there is vnto this day 

A pretty pastime told : 

For Tom fell in, and could not be 

For euer after found, 
For in the blood and batter he 95 

Was strangely lost and drownd. 

Where searching long, but all in vaine, 

His mother after that 
Into a pudding thrust her sonne, 

Instead of minced fat. 100 

Which pudding of the largest size, 

Into the kettle throwne, 
Made all the rest to fly thereout, 

As with a whirle-wind blowne. 

For so it tumbled vp and downe, 105 

Within the liquor there, 
As if the deuill 'had' been boyld; 

Such was his mothers feare. 

That vp she tooke the pudding strait, 
And gaue it at the doore 110 

Vnto a tinker, which from thence 
In his blacke budget bore. 

But as the tinker climb'd a stile, 

By chance he let a cracke : 
Now gip, old knaue, out cride Tom Thumbe, 

There hanging at his backe : 116 

At which the tinker gan to run, 

And would no longer stay, 
But cast both bag and pudding downe, 

And thence hyed fast away. 120 

From which Tom Thumbe got loose at last 

And home return'd againe : 
Where he from following dangers long 

In safety did remaine. 

Ver. 87, to. V. 88, feared that. V. 107, had there. 



Untill such time his mother went 125 

A milking of her kine, 
Where Tom vnto a thistle fast 

She linked with a twine. 

A thread that helde him to the same, 

For feare the blustring winde 130 

Should blow him thence, that so she might 
Her sonne in safety finde. 

But marke the hap, a cow came by, 

And vp the thistle eate. 
Poore Tom withall, that, as a docke, 135 

Was made the red cowes meate : 

Who being mist, his mother went 

Him calling euery where, 
Where art thou Tom ? where art thou Tom ? 

Quoth he, Here mother, here : 140 

Within the red cowes belly here, 

Your sonne is swallowed vp. 
The which into her feareful heart 

Most carefull dolours put. 

Meane while the cowe was troubled much, 
In this her tumbling wombe, 146 

And could not rest vntil that she 
Had backward cast Tom Thumbe : 

Who all besmeared as he was, 

His mother tooke him vp, 150 

To beare him thence, the which poore lad 

She in her pocket put. 

Now after this, in sowing time, 

His father would him haue 
Into the field to driue his plow, 

And therevpon him gaue 155 

A whip made of a barly straw, 

To driue the cattle on : 
Where, in a furrow'd land new sowne, 

Poore Tom was lost and gon. 

Now by a raven of great strength 160 

Away he thence was borne, 
And carried in the carrions beake 

Euen like a graine of come, 

Unto a giants castle top, 

In which he let him fall, 165 

Where soone the giant swallowed vp 

His body, cloathes and all. 



THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM THUMBE. 


479 


But in his belly did Tom Thumbe 
So great a rumbling make, 

That neither day nor night he could 
The smallest quiet take, 


170 


So trauelling two dayes and nights, 
With labour and great paine, 

He came into the house whereas 
His parents did remaine ; 


215 


Untill the gyant had him spewd 
Three miles into the sea, 

Whereas a fish soone tooke him vp 
And bore him thence away. 


175 


Which was but halfe a mile in space 
From good king Arthurs court, 

The which in eight and forty houres 
He went in weary sort. 




"Which lusty fish was after caught 

And to king Arthur sent, 
Where Tom was found, and made his dwarfe, 

Whereas his dayes he spent 


But comming to his fathers doore, 
He there such entrance had 

As made his parents both reioice, 
And he thereat was glad. 


220 


Long time in liuely ioUity, 

Belou'd of all the court, 
And none like Tom was then esteem'd 

Among the noble sort. 


180 


His mother in her apron tooke 
Her gentle sonne in haste, 

And by the fier side, within 
A walnut shell, him plac'd : 


225 


Amongst his deedes of courtship done, 
His highnesse did command, 

That he ould dance a galliard braue 
Vpon his queenes left hand. 


185 


Whereas they feasted him three dayes 

Vpon a hazell nut, 
Whereon he rioted so long 

He them to charges put ; 


230 


The which he did, and for the same 
The king his signet gaue, 

Which Tom ab ut his middle wore 
Long time a girdle braue. 


190 


And there-upon grew wonderous sicke, 
Through eating too much meate, 

Which was sufficient for a month 
For this great man to eate. 


235 


Now after this the king would not 

Abroad for pleasure goe, 
But still Tom Thumbe must ride with him, 

Plac't on his saddle-bow. 195 


But now his businesse calPd him foorth 

King Arthurs court to see, 
Whereas no longer from the same 

He could a stranger be. 


i 


Where on a time when as it rain'd, 
Tom Thumbe most nimbly crept 

In at a button hole, where he 
Within his bosome slept. 




But yet a few small April drops, 
Which setled in the way, 

His long and weary iourney forth 
Did hinder and so stay. 


240 


And being neere his highnesse heart, 
He crau'd a wealthy boone, 

A liberall gift, the which the king 
Comanded to be done, 


200 


Until his carefull father tooke 

A birding trunke in sport, 
And with one blast blew this his sonne 

Into king Arthurs court. 


245 


• For to relieue his fathers wants, 
And mothers, being old ; 
Which was so much of siluer coyne 
As well his armes could hold. 


205 


Now he with tilts and turnaments 

Was entertained so, 
That all the best of Arthurs knights 

Did him much pleasure show. 


250 


And so away goes lusty Tom, 
With three pence on his backe, 

A heauy burthen, which might make 
His wearied limbes to cracke. 
61 


210 

1 


As good Sir Lancelot of the Lake, 

Sir Tristam, and sir Guy ; 
Yet none compar'd with braue Tom Thum, 

For knightly chiualry. 255 



480 



THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM TIIUMBE. 



In honour of which noble day, 

And for his ladies sake, 
A challenge in king Arthurs court 

Tom Thumbe did brauely make. 

Gainst whom these noble knights did run, 
Sir Chinon and the rest, 261 

Yet still Tom Thumbe with matchles might 
Did beare away the best. 



At last sir Lancelot of the Lake 

In manly sort came in, 
And with this stout and hardy knight 

A battle did begin. 



265 



"Which made the courtiers all agast, 

For there that valiant man 
Through Lancelots steed, before them all, 

In nimble manner ran. 371 

Yea horse and all, with speare and shield, 

As hardly he was seene, 
But onely by king Arthurs selfe 

And his admired queene. 275 

Who from her finger tooke a ring, 

Through which Tom Thumbe made way. 

Not touching it, in nimble sort, 
As it was done in play. 

He likewise cleft the smallest haire 280 

From his faire ladies head, 
Not hurting her whose euen hand 

Him lasting honors bred. 

Such were his deeds and noble acts 

In Arthurs court there showne, 285 

As like in all the world beside 
Was hardly seene or knowne. 

Now at these sports he toyld himselfe 

That he a sicknesse tooke, 
Through which all manly exercise 290 

He carelesly forsooke. 

Where lying on his bed sore sicke, 

King Arthurs doctor came, 
With cunning skill, by physicks art, 

To ease and cure the same. 295 



His body being so slender small, 

This cunning doctor tooke 
A fine prospective glasse, with which 

He did in secret looke 

Into his sickened body downe, 300 

And therein saw that Death 
Stood ready in his wasted guts 

To sease his vitall breath. 

His armes and leggs consum'd as small 
As was a spiders web, 305 

Through which his dying houre grew on, 
For all his lirnbes grew dead. 

His face no bigger than an ants, 

Which hardly could be seene : 
The losse of which renowned knight 310 

Much grieu'd the king and queene. 

And so with peace and quietnesse 

He left this earth below ; 
And vp into the Fayry Land 

His ghost did fading goe. 315 

Whereas the Fayry queen receiu'd, 

"With heauy mourning cheere, 
The body of this valiant knight, 

"Whom she esteem'd so deere. 

For with her dancing nymphes in greene, 320 

She fetcht him from his bed, 
"With musicke and sweet melody, 

So soone as life was fled : 

For whom king Arthur and his knights 
Full forty daies did mourne ; 325 

And, in remembrance of his name 
That was so strangely borne, 

He built a tomb of marble gray, 

And yeare by yeare did come 
To celebrate the mournefull day, 330 

And buriall of Tom Thum. 

Whose fame still Hues in England here, 

Amongst the country sort ; 
Of whom our wives and children small 

Tell tales of pleasant sport. 335 



THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. 



481 



%\t to flf St IflfrlL 



This ballad — the composition of Sir Walter 
Scott — was originally published in the "Tales 
of Wonder," edited by M. G. Lewis. The 
scene of the Tragedy, " Smaylho'ine, or 
Smallholm Tower, is situated on the northern 
boundary of Roxburghshire, among a cluster 
of wild rocks, called Sandiknow Crags. The 
tower is a high square building, surrounded 
by an outer wall, now ruinous. The circuit 
of the outer court, being defended on three 
sides by a precipice and morass, is accessible 
only from the west by a steep and rocky path. 
The apartments, as usual in a Border keep, 
or fortress, are placed one above another, and 
communicate by a narrow stair ; on the roof 
are two bartizans, or platforms, for defence 
or pleasure. The inner door of the tower is 
wood, the outer an iron gate ; the distance 
between them being nine feet, the thickness, 
namely, of the wall. From the elevated situ- 
ation of Smaylho'me Tower, it is seen many 
miles in every direction. Among the crags 
by which it is surrounded, one, more eminent, 
is called the Watchfold, and is said to have 
been the station of a beacon in the times 
of war with England. Without the tower- 
court is a ruined chapel. Brotherstone is a 
heath, in the neighbourhood of Smaylho'me 
Tower."* 

When the ballad was republished in the 
" Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," it was 
accompanied by some account of the battle 
of " Ancram Moor," to which reference is 
made in the poem, as " running red with 
English blood" from the fight between "keen 
Lord Evers" and 



* This Ballad derives additional interest from the fact 
that " the ancient fortress and its vicinity formed the scene 
of the Editor's infancy, and seemed to claim from him this 
attempt to celebrate them in a Border tale." References 
are made, in the introduction to the 3d canto of " Mar- 
mion," to 

" those crags, that mountain tower, 

Which charm'd my fancy's wakening hour." 

" It was a barren scene, and wild, 
Where naked cliffs were rudely piled ; 
But ever and anon between 
Lay velvet tufts of softest green ; 
And well the lonely infant knew 
Recesses where the wallflower grew:" 



"The Douglas true and the bold Buccleuch," 

— a fight that was ever famous in the annals 
of border warfare.* It took place in 1546. 
Evers and his colleague Sir Brian Latoun, 
having been promised by the English king a 
feudal grant of the country they had reduced 
to a desert, Archibald Douglas, the seventh 
Earl of Angus, is said to have sworn to write 
the deed of investiture upon their skins with 
sharp pens and bloody ink, in resentment for 
their having defaced the tombs of his ances- 
tors at Melrose. He kept his word ; at the 
head of one thousand men, aided by the fa- 
mous Norman Lesley with a body of Fife-men, 
and " the bold Buccleuch" with a small but 
chosen body of his retainers, Evers and La- 
toun were met, at Ancram Moor,f with an 
army consisting of three thousand mercena- 
ries, one thousand five hundred English Bor- 
derers, and seven hundred Scotchmen of 
"broken clans," who changed sides during 
the engagement, and, joining their country- 
men, made a most merciless slaughter among 



* In the 1st volume of " Border Minstrelsy" is printed a 
ballad which appears to have been written to commemo- 
rate the circumstance of Sir Ralph Evers being ennobled 
on account of the vigour with which he prosecuted the 
Border warfare : — 

" And since he has kepte Berwick upon Tweed, 
The town was never better kept, I wot; 
He maintain'd leal and order along the Border, 
And still was ready to prick the Scot. 

" With our Queen's brother he hath been, 

And rode rough-shod thro' Scotland of late; 
They have burn'd the Mers and Tiviotdale, 
And knocked full loud at Edinburgh gate." 

Lord Evers was slain at Ancram Moor; and "was bu- 
ried in Melrose Abbey, where his stone coffin may still be 
seen — a little to the left of the Great Altar." 

t The spot on which the battle was fought is called Lil- 
yard's Edge, from an Amazonian Scottish woman of that 
name, who is reported, by tradition, to have distinguished 
herself in the same manner as Squire Witherington. The 
old people point out her monument, now broken and de- 
faced. The inscription is said to have been legible within 
this century, and to have run thus : — 

" Fair maiden Lylliard lies under this stane, 
Little was her stature, but great was her fame, 
Upon the English louns she laid mony thumps, 
And, when her legs were cutted off, she fought upon her 
stumps." 



482 



THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. 



the English fugitives. "In the battle fell 
Lord Evers and his son, together with Sir 
Brian Latoun, and eight hundred English- 
men, many of whom were persons of rank. 
A thousand prisoners were taken. Among 
these was a patriotic alderman of London, 
Read by name, who, having contumaciously 
refused to pay his portion of a benevolence 
demanded from the city by Henry VIII., was 
sent by royal authority to serve against the 
Scots. These, at settling his ransom, he 
found still more exorbitant in their exactions 
than the monarch." 

Concerning the ballad of " The Eve of St. 
John," Sir Walter Scott gives us no informa- 
tion except in the notes — and they refer ex- 
clusively to the localities among which he 
has laid the scene of a romantic drama. He 
does not appear to have pointed the moral 
from any particular incident ; yet the lesson 
conveyed by the story, that 

" Lawless love is guilt above," 

is not the less forcible because it has reference 
to no express local tradition. The stanzas 
which close the tale are full of solemn gran- 
deur ; seldom has a more impressive picture 
been exhibited in lines so few : — 

" There is a nun in Dryburgh bower, 
Ne'er looks upon the sun ; 
There is a monk in Melrose tower, 
He speaketh word to none. 

" That nun, who ne'er beholds the day, 
That monk who speaks to none — 
That nun was Smaylho'me's Lady gay, 
That monk the bold baron." 

The Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day, 

He spurred his courser on, 
Without stop or stay, down the rocky way, 

That leads to Brotherstone. 

He went not with the bold Buccleuch, 5 

His banner broad to rear ; 
He went not 'gainst the English yew, 

To lift the Scottish spear. 

Yet his plate-jack was brac'd, his helmet was 
lac'd, 

And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore ; 10 
At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe, 

Full ten pound weight and more. 



The Baron return'd in three days' space, 
And his looks were sad and sour : 

And weary was his courser's pace, 15 

As he reach'd his rocky tower. 

He came not from where Ancram Moor 

Ran red with English blood ; 
Where the Douglas' true, and the bold Buc- 
cleuch, 

'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood. 20 

Yet was his helmet hack'd and hew'd, 

His acton pierced and tore, 
His axe and his dagger with blood imbrued, — 

But it was not English gore. 

He lighted at the Chapellage, 25 

He held him close and still ; 
And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page, 

His name was English Will. 

" Come thou hither, my little foot-page, 
Come hither to my knee ; 30 

Though thou art young, and tender of age, 
I think thou art true to me. 

" Come tell me all that thou hast seen, 

And look thou tell me true ! 
Since I from Smaylho'me tower have been, 

What did thy lady do ?" 36 

" My lady, each night, sought the lonely light, 
That burns on the wild Watchfold ; 

For, from height to height, the beacons bright 
Of the English foemen told. 40 

" The bittern clamour'd from the moss, 

The wind blew loud and shrill ; 
Yet the craggy pathway she did cross, 

To the eiry Beacon Hill. 

" I watch'd her steps, and silent came 45 
Where she sat her on a stone ; — 

No watchman stood by the dreary flame, 
It burned all alone. 

" The second night I kept her in sight, 
Till to the fire she came, 50 

And, by Mary's might ! an armed knight 
Stood by the lonely flame. 

" And many a word that warlike lord 

Did speak to my lady there ; 
But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast, 

And I heard not what they were. 56 



THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. 



483 



" The third night there the sky was fair, 
And the mountain-blast was still, 

As again I watch'd the secret pair, 
On the lonesome Beacon Hill. 60 

" And I heard her name the midnight hour, 

And name this holy eve ; 
And say, • Come this night to thy lady's 
bower ; 

Ask no bold baron's leave. 

" ' He lifts his spear, with the bold Buccleuch ; 

His lady is all alone ; 66 

The door she'll undo to her knight so true, 

On the eve of good St. John.' — 

" ' I cannot come ; I must not come ; 

I dare not come to thee ; 70 

On the eve of St. John I must wander alone ; 

In thy bower I may not be.' — 

" ' Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight ! 

Thou shouldst not say me nay ; 
For the eve is sweet, and, when lovers meet, 

Is worth the whole summer's day. 76 

" ' And I'll chain the blood-hound, 
And the warder shall not sound, 

And ruslu s shall be strew'd on the stair ; 
So, by the black rood-stone, and by holy St. 
John, 80 

I conjure thee, my love, to be there ! ' — 

" ' Though the blood-hound be mute, 
And the rush beneath my foot, 

And the warder his bugle should not blow, 

There sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the 

east, 85 

And my footstep he would know.' — 

" ' fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the 
east ! 

For to Dryburgh the way he has ta'en ; 
And there to say mass, till three days do pass, 

For the soul of a knight that is slayne.' — 

" ' He turn'd him round, and grimly he 
frown'd ; 91 

Then he laughed right scornfully — 
' He who says mass-rite for the soul of that 
knight, 
May as well say mass for me : 



" ' At the midnight hour, 95 

When bad spirits have power, 

In thy chamber will I be.' — 
With that he was gone, and my lady left alone, 

And no more did I see." 

Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron's 
brow, 100 

From the dark to the blood-red high — 
" Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou 
hast seen, 
For, by Mary, he shall die !"— 

" His arms shone bright, in the beacon's red 
light ! 

His plume it was scarlet and blue ; 105 
On his shield was a hound, 
In a silver leash bound, 

And his crest was a branch of the yew." — 

" Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page, 
Loud dost thou lie to me ! 110 

For that knight is cold, 

And low laid in the mould, 
All under the Eildon-tree."— 

"Yet hear but my word, my noble lord! 

For I heard her name his name ; 115 

And that lady bright she called the knight 

Sir Richard of Coldinghame." — 

The bold Baron's brow then changed, I trow, 

From high blood-red to pale — 
" The grave is deep and dark — 120 

And the corpse is stiff and stark — 

So I may not trust thy tale. 

"Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose, 
And Eildon slopes to the plain, 

Full three nights ago, by some secret foe, 
That gay gallant was slain. 126 

" The varying light deceived thy sight, 
And the wild winds drown'd the name ; 

For the Dryburgh bells ring, 

And the white monks do sing, 130 

For Sir Richard of Coldinghame !" 

He passed the court-gate, 
And he oped the tower gate, 

And he mounted the narrow stair, 
To the bartizan seat, 135 

Where with maids that on her wait, 

He found his lady fair. 



484 



THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. 



That lady sat in mournful mood ; 

Look'd over hill and vale ; 
Over Tweed's fair flood, and Mertoun's wood, 

And all down Teviotdale. 141 

" Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright !"— 

" Now hail, thou Baron true ! 
What news, what news, from Ancram fight ? 

What news from the bold Buccleuch ?" — 

" The Ancram Moor is red with gore, 146 

For many a southern fell ; 
And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore, 

To watch our beacons well."— 

The lady blush'd red. but nothing she said : 
Nor added the Baron a word : 151 

Then she stepp'd down the stair to her cham- 
ber fair, 
And so did her moody lord. 

In sleep the lady mourn'd, 

And the Baron toss'd and turn'd, 155 

And oft to himself he said,— 
" The worms around him creep, 
And his bloody grave is deep 

It cannot give up the dead !" — 

It was near the ringing of matin-bell, 1 60 

The night was well nigh done. 
When a heavy sleep on that Baron fell, 

On the eve of good St. John. 

The lady look'd through the chamber fair, 
By the light of a dying flame ; 165 

And she was aware of a knight stood there — 
Sir Richard of Coldinghame ! 

" Alas ! away, away !" she cried, 
" For the holy Virgin's sake !" — 

" Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side ; 
But, lady, he will not awake. 171 

" By Eildon-tree, for long nights three, 

In bloody grave have I lain ; 
The mass and the death-prayer are said for 
me, 

But, lady, they are said in vain. 175 



"By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's fair 
strand, 

Most foully slain, I fell ; 
And my restless sprite on the beacon's height, 

For a space is doomed to dwell. 

" At our trysting-place, for a certain space, 
I must wander to and fro ; 181 

But I had not had power to come to thy bower, 
Hadst thou not conjured me so." — 

Love master'd fear — her brow she cross'd ; 

" How, Richard, hast thou sped ? 185 

And art thou saved, or art thou lost ?" — 

The vision shook his head ! 



" Who spilleth life shall forfeit life ; 

So bid thy lord believe : 
That lawless love is guilt above, 

This awful sign receive." 



190 



He laid his left palm on an oaken beam, 

His right upon her hand ; 
The lady shrunk, and fainting sunk, 

For it scorch'd like a fiery brand. 195 

The sable score of fingers four 
Remains on that board impress'd ; 

And for evermore that lady wore 
A covering on her wrist.* 

There is a nun in Dryburgh bower, 200 

Ne'er looks upon the sun ; 
There is a monk in Melrose tower, 

He speaketh word to none. 

That nun, who ne'er beholds the day, 

That monk who speaks to none — 205 

That nun was Smaylho'me's Lady gay, 
That monk the bold Baron. 



■ * The circumstance of the " nun who never saw the 
day," is not entirely imaginary. Neither is the incident 
of the lady wearing a covering on the wrist to conceal " the 
sable score of fingers four." Sir Walter says it is " founded 
on an Irish tradition." The circumstance referred to is 
not of a remote date. We have ourselves seen the bracelet 
said to have been thus used — and worn until death be- 
trayed the secret of the wearer. 



FRENNET HALL. 



485 



fniuui fall 



We copy this ballad from Herd's collection 
of "Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs, 
Heroic Ballads, &c," where it first appeared, 
unaccompanied, however, by note or com- 
ment, and leaving little room for doubt that 
it was the production of a modern pen, — 
" written belike (we quote from Motherwell) 
by the ingenious hand to whom we are in- 
debted for the Ballads of ' Duncan' and 'Ken- 
neth,' which appear in the same work, and 
which, by the way, we may be pardoned for 
saying, are but indifferent imitations of the 
Ancient Ballad style."* 

It was reprinted by Ritson, who considers 
it to have been " suggested by one composed 
at the time, a few stanzas of which were for- 
tunately remembered by the Rev. Mr. Boyd, 
translator of ' Dante/ and were obligingly 
communicated to the Editor by his very inge- 
nious and valuable friend, J. C.Walker, Esq." 
These stanzas we have introduced in a note. 
The ballad of which Ritson gave a fragment 
has, however, been since rescued entire. It 
is entitled the "Fire of Frendraught," and 
its history is thus given by Motherwell. "For 
the recovery of this interesting ballad hitherto 
supposed to have been lost, the public is in- 
debted to the industrious research of Charles 
Kirkpatrick Sharpe, Esq., of Edinburgh, by 
whom it was obligingly communicated for 
insertion in the present collection. It has 
already appeared in a smaller volume of ex- 
ceeding rarity, printed at Edinburgh, in the 
beginning of 1824, under the title of 'A 
North Country Garland,' but with the disad- 
vantage of containing a very considerable 



* " In 1769, Mr. Herd published his Ancient and Modern 
Songs, Heroic Ballads, &c, and again, in 1776, in two vol- 
umes, — a collection of much merit, and one wherein many 
curious lyrical pieces have found a sanctuary. The prin- 
cipal faults of this compilation consist in its ancient, and 
modern pieces being indiscriminately mingled together; 
and that no reference is even made to the authorities from 
which they are derived, except what this slight announce- 
ment contains : " It is divided into three parts. The first 
is composed of all the Scottish Ancient and Modern Heroic 
Ballads, or Epic tales, together with some beautiful frag- 
ments of this kind. Many of these are recovered from tra- 
dition, or old MSS., and never before printed. The second 
part consists of sentimental, pastoral, and love songs : and 
the third is a collection of comic, humorous, and jovial 
gongs.' "—Motherwell, "Introduction to Minstrelsy, An- 
cient and Modern." 



number of slight verbal and literal inaccura- 
cies," — which in Motherwell's version are 
removed. The ballad has a high degree of 
poetic merit, and probably was written at the 
time by an eye-witness of the event which it 
records ; for there is " a horrid vivacity of 
colouring and circumstantial minuteness in 
the description of the agonies of the unhappy 
sufferers, which none but a spectator could 
have given." 

The old ballad thus begins : 

" The eighteenth of October, 
A dismal tale to hear, 
How good Lord John and Rothiemay 
Were both burnt in the fire." 

The Scottish Historians detail the appalling 
circumstances commemorated in the ballad. 
The Viscount Aboyn, son to the Marquis of 
Huntley, and the young laird of Rothiemay, 
were guests in the castle of the Laird of 
Frendraught. "All being at rest, about mid- 
night that dolorous tower took fire. * * ' * 
Aboyn ran up stairs to Rothiemay's cham- 
ber and wakened him to rise ; and as he is 
awakening him, the timber passage and loft- 
ing of the chamber hastily take fire, so that 
none of them could run down stairs again ; 
so they turned to a window looking to the 
close, where they piteously cried many times, 
' Help, help, for God's cause/ The laird and 
lady, with their servants, all seeing and hear- 
ing the woful crying, made no help or manner 
of helping;* which they perceiving, cried 



* A passage in the old ballad is said to have received a 
singular illustration. When the youths in their agony 
called upon Lady Frendraught for mercy, she is made to 
reply, 

" The keys are casten in the deep draw well, 
Ye cannot get away." > 

Mr. Finley, after regretting that all his attempts to reco- 
ver the ballad had proved unsuccessful, relates the follow- 
ing circumstance. " A lady, a near relation of mine, lived 
near the spot in her youth for some time ; and remembers 
having heard the old song mentioned by Ritson, but can- 
not repeat it. She says there was a verse which stated 
that the lord and lady locked the door of the tower, and 
flung the keys into the draw-well ; and that, many years 
ago, when the well was cleared out, this tradition was cor- 
roborated by their finding the keys — at least such was the 
report of the country." 



486 



FRENNET HALL. 



oftentimes mercy at God's hands for their 
sins ; syne clasped in each others arms, and 
cheerfully suffered their martyrdom." The 
Ballad-maker thus describes the horrible 
catastrophe: — Aboyn is answering to his 
servant, who entreats him to " loup down ;" — 

" loup, loup, my dear master, 

loup and come to me ; 
I'll catch you in my arms two, 

One foot I will not flee I" 

"But I cannot loup, I cannot come, 

1 cannot win to thee ; 

My head's fast in the wire window, 
My feet burning from me. 

" My eyes are seething in my head, 
My flesh roasting also, 
My bowels are boiling with my blood, 
Is not that & woeful woe. 

" Take here the rings from my white fingers, 
That are so long and small, 
And give them to my lady fair, 
Where she sits in her hall. 

" So I cannot loup, I cannot come, 
I cannot loup to thee — 
My earthly part is all consumed, 
My spirit but speaks to thee." 

The historian continues : — " Thus died this 
noble Viscount, of singular expectation, Ro- 
thiemay a brave youth, and the rest, by this 
doleful fire, never enough to be deplored, to 
the great grief and sorrow of their kin, pa- 
rents, and haill common people, especially to 
the noble Marquis. No man can express the 
dolour of him and his lady, nor yet the grief 
of the Viscount's ain dear lady, when it came 
to her ears, which she kept to her dying 
day, disdaining after the company of men all 
her lifetime, following the love of the turtle 
dove." 

Whether Frendraught and his lady were 
actually guilty can now never be ascertained. 
The popular voice was against them ; yet it 
is more than probable that the ballad and 
tradition have doomed innocent people to an 
infamous immortality. A gentleman named 
Meldrum was executed for the burning, but 
on very insufficient evidence; and he died 
" without any certain and real confession, as 



was said, anent this doleful fire." 
occurred in October, 1630. 



The fire 



When Frennet Castle's ivied walls 
Through yellow leaves were seen ; 

When birds forsook the sapless boughs, 
And bees the faded green ; 

Then Lady Frennet, vengefu' dame, 5 

Did wander frae the ha', 
To the wide forest's dewie gloom, 

Among the leaves that fa'. 

Her page, the swiftest of her train, 

Had dumb a lofty tree, 10 

Whase branches to the angry blast 
Were soughing mournfullie. 

He turn'd his een towards the path 

That near the castle lay, 
Where good Lord John and Rothiemay 15 

Were riding down the brae. 

Swift darts the eagle through the sky, 

When prey beneath is seen : 
As quickly he forgot his hold, 

And perch'd upon the green. 20 

" hie thee, hie thee, lady gay, 

Frae this dark wood awa' ! 
Some visitors of gallant mein 

Are hasting to the ha'." 

Then round she row'd her silken plaid, 25 

Her feet she did na spare, 
Until she left the forest's skirts 

A long bow-shot and mair. 

" where, where, my good lord John, 

tell me where ye ride ? 30 
Within my castle-wall this nicht 

1 hope ye mean to bide. 



" Kind nobles, will ye but alicht, 
In yonder bower to stay, 

Soft ease shall teach you to forget 
The hardness of the way." 



35 



" Forbear entreaty, gentle dame, 

How can we here remain ? 
Full well you know your husband deir 

Was by our father slain : 40 



THE LOVERS QUARREL. 



487 



" The thoughts of which, with fell revenge, 

Within your bosom swell : 
Enraged you've sworn that blood for blood, 

Should this black passion quell." 

" fear not, fear not, good Lord John, 45 

That I will you betray, 
Or sue requital for a debt 

Which nature cannot pay.* 



" Bear witness, a' ye powers on high ! 

Ye lichts that 'gin to shine ! 50 

This nicht shall prove the sacred cord 

That knits your faith and mine." 



The lady slie, with honey'd words, 
Enticed the youths to stay ; 

But morning sun ne'er shone upon 
Lord John and Rothiemay. 



55 



%\t fata f wral; ar, Capita fritting. 



This " pleasant History," which " may be 
sung to the tune of Floras Farewell," is here 
republished from a copy printed at London 
for F. Cotes and others, 1677, 12mo. bl. L, 
preserved in the curiou and valuable collec- 
tion of that excellent ana most respected an- 
tiquary Antony a Wood, in the Ashmolean 
Museum ; compared with another impression, 
for the same partners, without date, in the 
editor's possession. The reader will find a 
different copy of the poem, more in the bal- 



* The following are the stanzas referred to in the intro- 
ductory remarks : — 

" The reek it rose and the flame it flew, 
And, oh ! the fire augmented high, 
Until it came to Lord John's chamber window, 
And to the bed where Lord John lay. 

"<0 help me, help me, Lady Frennet, 
I never ettled harm to thee, 
And if my father slew thy lord, 
Forget the deed and rescue me.' 

" He looked east, he looked west, 
To see if any help was nigh ; 
At length his little page he saw, 
Who to his lord aloud did cry. 

"'Loup down, loup down, my master dear, 
What though the window's dreigh and hie, 
I'll catch you in my arms twa, 
And never a foot from you I'll flee.' 

" ' How can I loup, you little page ? 
How can I leave this window high? 
Do you not see the blazing low, 

And my twa legs burnt to my knee ?' " 

It was the publication of these fine and vigorous stanzas 
which led to a general search for the old ballad. At length 
it was recovered by Kirkpatrick Sharpe in the manner we 
have described. A rich and rare addition was thus made 
to the ballad Lore of Scotland. It is worthy of note, that 
in this fragment, also, guilt is attributed to Lady Frennet. 

62 



lad form, in a collection of " Ancient Songs," 
published by F. Johnson. Both copies are 
conjectured to have been modernized, by dif- 
ferent persons, from some common original, 
which has hitherto eluded the vigilance of 
collectors, but is strongly suspected to have 
been the composition of an old North country 
minstrel. 

The full title is — " The Lovers Quarrel : or 
Cupids Triumph : being the pleasant history 
of Fair Rosamond of Scotland. Being daugh- 
ter to the Lord Arundel, whose Jove was ob- 
tained by the valour of Tommy Pots: who 
conquered the Lord Phenix, and wounded 
him, and after obtained her to be his wife. 
Being very delightful to read." 

Of all the lords in Scotland fair, 

And ladies that been so bright of blee, 

There is a noble lady among them all, 
And report of her you shall hear by me. 

For of her beauty she is bright, 5 

And of her colour very fair, 
She's daughter to lord Arundel, 

Approv'd his parand and his heir. 

He see this bride, lord Phenix said, 

That lady of so bright a blee, 10 

And if I like her countenance well, 
The heir of all my lands she'st be. 

But when he came the lady before, 
Before this comely maid came he, 

god thee save, thou lady sweet, 15 

My heir and parand thou shalt be. 



488 



THE LOVERS QUARREL. 



Leave off your suit, the lady said, 
As you are a lord of high degree, 

You may have ladies enough at home, 
And I have a lord in mine own country ; 

For I have a lover true of mine own, 21 

A serving-man of low degree, 
One Tommy Pots it is his name, 

My first love, and last that ever shall be. 

If that Tom Pots [it] is his name, 25 

I do ken him right verily, 
I am able to spend fourty pounds a week, 

Where he is not able to spend pounds three. 

God give you good of your gold, she said, 
And ever god give you good of your fee, 30 

Tom Pots was the first love that ever I had, 
And I do mean him the last to be. 

With that lord Phenix soon was mov'd, 
Towards the lady did he threat, 

He told her father, and so it was prov'd, 35 
How his daughters mind was set. 

daughter dear, thou art my own, 

The heir of all my lands to be, 
Thou shalt be bride to the lord Phenix, 

If that thou mean to be heir to me. 40 

father dear, I am your own, 

And at your command I needs must be, 
But bind my body to whom you please, 

My heart, Tom Pots, shall go with thee. 

Alas ! the lady her fondness must leave, 45 
And all her foolish wooing lay aside, 

The time is come, her friends have appointed, 
That she must be lord Phenix bride. 



With that the lady began to weep, 
She knew not well then what to say, 

How she might lord Phenix deny, 

And escape from marriage quite away. 



50 



She call'd unto her little foot-page, 
Saying, I can trust none but thee, 

Go carry Tom Pots this letter fair, 55 

And bid him on Guildford-green meet me: 

For I must marry against my mind, 
Or in faith well proved it shall be ; 

And tell to him I am loving and kind, 

And wishes him this wedding to see. 60 



But see that thou note his countenance well, 
And his colour, and shew it to me ; 

And go thy way and high thee again, 
And forty shillings I will give thee. 

For if he smile now with his lips, 65 

His stomach will give him to laugh at the 
heart, 

Then may I seek another true love, 
For of Tom Pots small is my part. 

But if he blush now in his face, 

Then in his heart he will sorry be, 70 

Then to^his vow he hath some grace, 

And false to him Fie never be. 

Away this lacky boy he ran, 
And a full speed forsooth went he, 

Till he came to Strawberry-castle, 75 

And there Tom Pots came he to see. 

He gave him the letter in his hand, 

Before that he began to read, 
He told him plainly by word of mouth, 

His love was forc'd to be lord Phenix bride. 

When he look'd on the letter fair, 81 

The salt tears blemished his eye, 

Says, I cannot read this letter fair, 
Nor never a word to see or spy. 

My little boy be to me true, 85 

Here is five marks I will give thee, 

And all these words I must peruse, 
And tell my lady this from me : 

By faith and troth she is my own, 89 

By some part of promise, so it's to be found, 

Lord Phenix shall not have her night nor day, 
Except h* can win her with his own hand. 



On Guildford-green I will her meet, 
Say that I wish her for me to pray, 

For there Fie lose my life so sweet, 
Or else the wedding I mean to stay. 



95 



Away this lackey-boy he ran, 

Then as fast as he could hie, 
The lady she met him two miles of the way, 

Says, why hast thou staid so long, my boy ? 

My little boy, thou art but young, 101 

It gives me at heart thou'l mock and scorn, 

He not believe thee by word of mouth, 
Unless on this book thou wilt be sworn. 



THE LOVERS QUARREL. 



489 



Now by this book, the boy did say, 105 

And Jesus Christ be as true to me, 

Tom Pots could not read the letter fair, 
Nor never a word to spy or see. 

He says, by faith and troth you are his own, 
By some part of promise, so it's to be found, 

Lord Phenix shall not have you night nor day, 
Except he win you with his own hand. 112 

On Guildford-green he will you meet, 

He wishes you for him to pray, 
For there he'l lose his life so sweet, 115 

Or else the wedding he means to stay. 

If this be true, my little boy, 

These tidings which thou tellest to me, 
Forty shillings I did thee promise, 

Here is ten pounds I will give thee. 120 

My maidens all, the lady said, 
That ever wish me well to prove, 

Now let us all kneel down and pray, 
That Tommy Pots may win his love. 

If it be his fortune the better to win, 125 

As I pray to Christ in trinity, 
He make him the flower of all his kin, 

For the young lord Arundel he shall be. 



THE SECOND PART. 

Let's leave talking of this lady fair, 
In prayers full good where she may be, 

Now let us talk of Tommy Pots, 131 

To his lord and master for aid went he. 

Bat when he came lord Jockey before, 

He kneeled lowly on his knee, 
What news ? what news ? thou Tommy Pots, 

Thou art so full of courtesie. 136 

What ty dings ? what tydings ? thou Tommy 
Pots, 

Thou art so full of courtesie ; 
Thou hast slain some of thy fellows fair, 

Or wrought to me some villany. 140 

I have slain none of my fellows fair, 

Nor wrought to you no villany, 
But I have a love in Scotland fair, 

And I fear I shall lose her with poverty. 



If you'l not believe me by word of mouth, 
But read this letter, and you shall see, 146 

Here by all these suspitious words 

That she her own self hath sent to me. 

But when he had read the letter fair, 

Of all the suspitious words in it might be, 

Tommy Pots, take thou no care, 151 
Thou'st never lose her with poverty. 

For thou'st have forty pounds a week, 
In gold and silver thou shalt row, 

And Harvy town I will give thee, 155 

As long as thou intend'st to wooe. 

Thou'st have forty of thy fellows fair, 
And forty horses to go with thee, 

Forty of the best spears I have, 

And I myself in thy company. 160 

1 thank you, master, said Tommy Pots, 
That proffer is too good for me ; 

But, if Jesus Christ stand on my side, 
My own hands shall set her free. 

God be with you, master, said Tommy Pots, 
Now Jesus Christ you save and see ; 166 

If ever I come alive again, 
Staid the wedding it shall be. 

god be your speed, thou Tommy Pots, 
Thou art well proved for a man, 170 

See never a drop of blood thou spil, 
Nor yonder gentleman confound. 

See that some truce with him thou take, 

And appoint a place of liberty ; 
Let him provide him as well as he can, 175 

As well provided thou shalt be. 

But when he came to Guildford-green, 
And there had walkt a little aside, 

There he was ware of lord Phenix come, 
And lady Rosamond his bride. 180 

Away by the bride then Tommy Pots went, 
But never a word to her he did say, 

Till he the lord Phenix came before, 
He gave him the right time of the day. 

O welcome, welcome, thou Tommy Pots, 185 
Thou serving-man of low degree, 

How doth thy lord and master at home, 
And all the ladies in that country ? 



490 



THE LOVERS QUARREL. 



My lord and master is in good health, 
I trust since that I did him see ; 190 

Will you walk with me to an out-side, 
Two or three words to talk with me ? 

You are a noble man, said Tom, 
And born a lord in Scotland free, 

You may have ladies enough at home, 195 
And never take my love from me. 

Away, away, thou Tommy Pots, 
Thou serving-man stand thou aside ; 

It is not a serving-man this day, 

That can hinder me of my bride. 200 

If I be a serving-man, said Tom, 

And you a lord of high degree, 
A spear or two with you I'le run, 

Before I'le lose her cowardly. 

Appoint a place, I will thee meet, 205 

Appoint a place of liberty, 
For there I'le lose my life so sweet, 

Or else my lady I'le set free. 

On Guildford-green I will thee meet, 

No man nor boy shall come with me. 210 

As I am a man, said Tommy Pots, 
I'le have as few in my company. 

And thus staid the marriage was, 

The bride unmarried went home again, 

Then to her maids fast did she laugh, 215 
And in her heart she was full fain. 

My maidens all, the lady said, 

That ever wait on me this day, 
Now let us all kneel down, 

And for Tommy Pots let us all pray. 220 

If it be his fortune the better to win, 

As I trust to God in trinity, 
He make him the flower of all his kin, 

For the young lord Arundel he shall be. 

THE THIRD PART. 

Whex Tom Pots came home again, 225 

To try for his love he had but a week, 

For sorrow, god wot, he need not care, 
For four days that he fel sick. 

With that his master to him came, 

Says, pray thee, Tom Pots, tell me if thou 
doubt, 230 

Whether thou hast gotten thy gay lady, 
Or thou must go thy love without. 



master, yet it is unknown, 

Within these two days well try'd it must be, 
He is a lord, I am but a serving man, 235 
I fear I shall lose her with poverty. 

1 prethee, Tom Pots, get thee on thy feet, 
My former promises kept shall be ; 

As I am a lord in Scotland fair, 

Thou'st never lose her with poverty. 240 

For thou'st have the half of my lands a year, 
And that will raise thee many a pound, 

Before thou shalt out-braved be, 

Thou shalt drop angels with him on the 
ground. 

I thank you, master, said Tommy Pots, 245 
Yet there is one thing of you I would fain, 

If that I lose my lady sweet, 

How I'st restore your goods again ? 

If that thou win the lady sweet, 249 

Thou mayst well forth thou shalt pay me, 

If thou losest thy lady thou losest enough, 
Thou shalt not pay me one penny. 

You have thirty horses in one close, 
You keep them all both frank and free, 

Amongst them all there's an old white horsfc, 
This day would set my lady free ; 256 

That is an old horse with a cut tail, 

Full sixteen years of age is he ; 
If thou wilt lend me that old horse, 

Then could I win her easily. 260 

That's a foolish opinion, his master said, 
And a foolish opinion thou tak'st to thee ; 

Thou'st have a better then ever he was, 
Though forty pounds more it should cost 
me. 

O your choice horses are wild and tough, 265 
And little they can skill of their train; 

If I be out of my saddle cast, 

They are so wild they'l ne'r be tain. 

Thou'st have that horse, his master said, 270 
If that one thing thou wilt me tell ; 

Why that horse is better then any other, 
I pray thee, Tom Pots, shew thou to me. 



That horse is old, of stomach bold, 
And well can he skill of his train, 

If I be out of my saddle cast, 

He'l either stand still, or turn again. 



275 



THE LOVERS QUARREL. 



491 



Thou'st have the horse with all my heart, 
And my plate coat of silver free, 

An hundred men to stand at thy back, 280 
To fight if he thy master be. 

I thank you master, said Tommy Pots, 
That proffer is too good for me, 

I would not for ten thousand pounds, 

Have man or boy in my company. 285 

God be with you, master, said Tommy Pots, 

Now as you are a man of law, 
One thing let me crave at your hand, 

Let never a one of my fellows know. 

For if that my fellows they did wot, 290 

Or ken of my extremity, 
Except you keep them under a lock, 

Behind me I'm sure they would not be. 

But when he came to Guildford-green, 

He waited hours two or three, 295 

There he was ware of lord Phenix come, 
And four men in his company. 

You have broken your vow, said Tommy 
Pots, 
The vow which you did make to me, 
You said you would bring neither man nor 
boy, 300 

And now has brought more than two or 
three. 

These are my men, lord Phenix said, 
Which every day do wait on me ; 

If any of these dare proffer to strike, 

I'le run my spear through his body. 305 

l'le run no race now, said Tommy Pots, 

Except now this may be, 
If either of us be slain this day, 

The other shall forgiven be. 

I'le make that vow with all my heart, 310 
My men shall bear witness with me ; 

And if thou slay me here this day, 

In Scotland worse belov'd thou never shalt 
be. 

They turn'd their horses thrice about, 

To run the race so eagerly ; 315 

Lord Phenix he was fierce and stout, 

And ran Tom Pots through the thick o' 
th' thigh. 



He bor'd him out of the saddle fair, 
Down to the ground so sorrowfully. 

For the loss of my life I do not care, 320 
But for the loss of my fair lady. 

Now for the loss of my lady sweet, 

Which once I thought to have been my 
wife, 

I pray thee, lord Phenix, ride not away, 
For with thee I would end my life. 325 

Tom Pots was but a serving-man, 

But yet he was a doctor good, 
He bound his handkerchief on his wound, 

And with some kind of words he stancht 
his blood.* 

He leapt into his saddle again, 330 

The blood in his body began to warm, 

He mist lord Phenix body fair, 
And ran him through the brawn of the 



He bor'd him out of his saddle fair, 

Down to the ground most sorrowfully ; 335 

Says, prethee, lord Phenix, rise up and fight, 
Or yield my lady unto me. 

Now for to fight I cannot tell, 

And for to fight I am not sure ; 
Thou hast run me throw the brawn o' the 
arm, 340 

That with a spear I may not endure. 

Thou'st have the lady with all my heart, 
It was never likely better to prove 

With me or any nobleman else 

That would hinder a poor man of his love. 

Seeing you say so much, said Tommy Pots, 
I will not seem your butcher to be, 

But I will come and stanch your blood, 
If any thing you will give me. 

As he did stanch lord Phenix blood, 350 

Lord ! in his heart he did rejoice ; 

I'le not take the lady from you thus, 
But of her you'st have another choice. 



Here is a lane of two miles long, 
At either end we set will be, 

The lady shall stand us among, 
Her own choice shall set her free. 



355 



* i. e. he made use of a charm for that purpose. 



492 



KATHARINE JANFARIE. 



If thou'l do so, lord Phenix said, 

To lose her by her own choice it's honesty, 
Chuse •whether I get her or go her without, 

Forty pounds I will give thee. 361 

But when they in that lane was set, 
The wit of a woman for to prove, 

By the faith of my body, the lady said, 
Then Tom Pots must needs have his love. 



Towards Tom Pots the lady did hie, 
To get on behind him hastily ; 

Nay stay, nay stay, lord Phenix said, 
Better proved it shall be. 



366 



370 



Stay you with your maidens here, 
In number fair they are but three ; 

Tom Pots and I will go behind yonder wall, 
That one of us two be proved to dye. 

But when they came behind the wall, 

The one came not the other nigh, 375 

For the lord Phenix had made a vow, 

That with Tom Pots he would never fight. 

give me this choice, lord Phenix said, 
To prove whether true or false she be, 

And I will go to the lady fair, 380 

And tell her Tom Pots slain is he. 

When he came from behind the wall, 
"With his face all bloody as it might be, 

lady sweet, thou art my own, 

For Tom Pots slain is he. 385 

Now have I slain him, Tommy Pots, 
And given him deaths wounds two or three ; 

lady sweet, thou art my own, 
Of all loves, wilt thou live with me ? 



If thou hast slain him, Tommy Pots, 39ft 
And given him deaths wounds two or three, 

Pie sell the state of my fathers lands, 
But hanged shall lord Phenix be. 

With that the lady fell in a swound, 

For a grieved woman, god wot, was she ; 

Lord Phenix he was ready then, 396 

To take her up so hastily. 

lady sweet, stand thou on thy feet, 
Tom Pots alive this day may be ; 

Pie send for thy father, lord Arundel, 400 
And he and I the wedding will see : 

I'le send for thy father, lord Arundel, 
And he and I the wedding will see ; 

If he will not maintain you well, 
Both lands and livings you'st have of me. 

Pie see this wedding, lord Arundel said, 406 
Of my daughters luck that is so fair, 

Seeing the matter will be no better, 
Of all my lands Tom Pots shall be the heir. 

With that the lady began for to smile, 410 
For a glad woman, god wot, was she; 

Now all my maids, the lady said, 
Example you may take by me. 

But all the ladies of Scotland fair, 

And lasses of England, that well would 
prove, 415 

Neither marry for gold nor goods, 
Nor marry for nothing "but only love : 

For I had a lover true of my own, 

A serving-man of low degree ; 419 

Now from Tom Pots I'le change his name, 
For the young lord Arundel he shall be. 



futljarhu $»nf»rh. 



Of this ballad — first published in the 
"Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border" — the 
editor informs us that it is " given from seve- 
ral recited copies." It has obviously under- 
gone some alteration ; yet much of the rugged 
character of the original has been retained. 



The scenery of the ballad is said, by tradi- 
tion, to lie upon the banks of the Cadden- 
water, " a small rill which joins the Tweed 
(from the north) betwixt Inverleithen and 
Clovenford." It is also traditionally stated 
that Katharine Janfarie "lived high up iu 



KATHARINE JANFARIE. 



493 



the glen" — a beautiful and sequestered vale, 
connected with Traquair, and situated about 
three miles above Traquair House. The re- 
cited copies, from which it is probable Sir 
Walter Scott collected the verses he has here 
brought together, exist in Buchan's "Ancient 
Ballads and Songs," and in Motherwell's 
" Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern." It de- 
rives interest and importance, however, less 
from its intrinsic merit, than from the cir- 
cumstance of its having given to Scott the 
hint upon which he founded one of the most 
brilliant and spirit-stirring of his composi- 
tions — the famous and favourite ballad of 
Young Lochinvar. It will gratify the curious 
to compare the passages in the two that most 
nearly resemble each other. We, therefore, 
print the following extracts from Young Loch- 
invar, taken from the notes to the modern 
edition of the "Minstrelsy." — 

" Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on 

his sword, 
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never 

a word) 
0, come ye in peace here or come ye in war, 
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochin- 
var?" 
« $ * » * 

" ' I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you 

denied, 
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its 

tide, — 
And now I am come with this lost love of 

mine, 
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of 

wine.' 
* * * * * 

" The bride kiss'd the goblet ; the knight took 

it up; 
He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down 

the cup. 
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up 

to sigh, 
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her 

eye. 
***** 

" One touch to her hand, and one word in her 

ear, 
When they reach'd the hall door, and the 

charger stood near : 
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, 
So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 



' She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, 

and scaur ; 
They'll have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth 

young Lochinvar." 
* * * * * 

Gordon of Lochinvar was, we are told, the 
head of a powerful branch of that name, 
afterwards Viscounts of Lochinvar. Mother- 
well's version, entitled Catherine Johnstone, 
was " obtained from recitation in the West 
of Scotland," and shows the state in which 
the " popular ballad" is there preserved. The 
" Laird o' Lamington" here figures ; and it is 
worthy of remark, as proving a common ori- 
gin, that " the Laird of Lamington" was the 
title given to the ballad in the first edition of 
the Border Minstrelsy. A few stanzas from 
Motherwell's version will exhibit the varia- 
tions between the two copies. The Lord of 
Lamington having received tidings that his 
lady-love was about to be wedded to an Eng- 
lish gentleman, suddenly enters the wedding- 
house, where 

" Four and twenty belted knights 
Sat at a table round ;" 

who rose to honour and to welcome him ; the 
ballad thus proceeds : — 

" 0, meikle was the good red wine, 
In silver cups did flow ; 
But aye she drank to Lamington, 
For with him would she go. 

" 0, meikle was the good red wine, 
In silver cups gaed round ; 
At length they began to whisper words, 
None could them understand. 

" ' came ye here for sport, young man, 
Or came ye here for play ? 
Or came ye for our bonny bride, 
On this her wedding-day V 

" ' I came not here for sport,' he said, 
' Neither did I for play ; 
But for one word o'your bonnie bride, " 
I'll mount and go away.' 

" They set her maids behind her, 
To hear what they would say ; 

But the first question he ask'd at her, 
Was always answer'd nay ; 

The next question, he ask'd at her, 
Was ' Mount and come away !' 



494 



KATHARINE JANFAME. 



" It's up the Couden bank, 

And down the Couden brae ; 
And aye she made the trumpet sound, 
It's a weel won play. 

" 0, meikle was the blood was shed, 
Upon the Couden brae ; 
And aye she made the trumpet sound, 
It's a' fair play." 

Of the two versions to which we have re- 
ferred, and another published by Mr. Buchan, 
Mr. Robert Chambers has composed a fourth. 
Several stanzas, however, are obviously bor- 
rowed from other sources, — G il Morrice espe- 
cially. The following passages occur towards 
the conclusion : — 

" There were four and twenty bonnie boys, 
A' clad in Johnston e-grey ; 
They said they would take the bride again, 
By the strong hand, if they may. 

" Some o' them were right willing men, 
But they were na willing a' ; 
And four and twenty Leader lads 
Bade them mount and ride awa'. 

" Then whingers flew frae gentles' sides, 
And swords flew frae the sheas ; 
And red and rosy was the blude 
Ran down the lilye braes. 

" The blood ran down by Cadden bank, 
And down by Cadden brae; 
And, sighing, said the bonnie bride, 
' 0, wae's me for foul play !' 

" ' My blessing on your heart, sweet thing ! 
Wae to your wilful will ! 
There's mony a gallant gentleman 
Whose blude ye hae garr'd spill.' " 

There was a may, and a weel-far'd may, 

Lived high up in yon glen : 
Her name was Katharine Janfarie, 

She was courted by mony men. 

Up then came Lord Lauderdale, 5 

Up frae the Lawland Border ; 
And he has come to court this may, 

A' mounted in good order. 

He told na her father, he told na her mother, 
And he told na ane o' her kin ; 10 

But he whisper'd the bonnie lassie hersell, 
And has her favour won. 



But out then came Lord Lochinvar, 
Out frae the English Border, 

All for to court this bonny may, 
Weel mounted, and in order. 



15 



He told her father, he told her mother, 

And a' the lave o' her kin ; 
But he told na the bonny may hersell, 

Till on her wedding e'en. 20 

She sent to the Lord o' Lauderdale, 

Gin he wad come and see ; 
And he has sent word back again, 

Weel answer'd she suld be. 

And he has sent a messenger 25 

Right quickly through the land, 

And raised mony an armed man 
To be at his command. 

The bride looked out at a high window, 
Beheld baith dale and down, 30 

And she was aware of her first true love, 
With riders mony a one. 

She scoffed him, and scorned him, 

Upon her wedding day ; 
And said — " It was the Fairy court 35 

To see him in array ! 

"0 come ye here to fight, young lord, 

Or come ye here to play ? 
Or come ye here to drink good wine 

Upon the wedding day V — 40 

" I come na here to fight," he said, 

" I come na here to play ; 
I'll but lead a dance wi' the bonny bride, 

And mount and go my way." 

It is a glass of the blood-red wine 45 

Was filled up them between, 
And aye she drank to Lauderdale, 

Wha her true love had been. 

He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand, 
And by the grass-green sleeve ; 50 

He's mounted her hie behind himsell, 
At her kinsmen speir'd na leave.* 



* [" One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, 

When they reach'd the hall door, and the charger stood 
near; 

So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, 

So light to the saddle hefore her he sprung! 

' She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur ; 

They'll have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth young Lochin- 
var." Atarmion.] 



HOW THE WISE MAN TAUGHT HIS SON. 



495 



" Now take your bride, Lord Lochinvar ! 

Now take her if you may ! 
But, if you take your bride again, 55 

We'll call it but foul play." 

There were four-and-twenty bonnie boys, 

A' clad in the Johnstone grey ; 
They said they would take the bride again, 

By the strong hand, if they may. jO 

Some o' them were right willing men, 

But they were na willing a': 
And four-and-twenty Leader lads 
. Bid them mount and ride awa\ 

Then whingers flew frae gentles' sides, 65 
And swords flew frae the shea's, 

And red and rosy was the blood 
Ran down the lily braes. 



The blood ran down by Caddon bank, 

And down by Caddon brae ; 70 

And, sighing, said the bonnie bride — 
" wae's me for foul play I" 

My blessing on your heart, sweet thing ! 

Wae to your wilfu' will ! 
There's mony a gallant gentleman 75 

Whae's bluid ye have garr'd to spill. 

Now a' you lords of fair England, 
And that dwell by the English Border, 

Come never here to seek a wife, 
For fear of sic disorder. 80 

They'll haik ye up, and settle ye bye, 

Till on your wedding day ; 
Then gie ye frogs instead of fish, 

And play ye foul, foul play. 



|oto t\t Win Pan fcmijljt jris Sjoto. 



This little moral piece, which, for the time 
wherein it was written, is not inelegant, is 
given from a manuscript collection in the 
Harleian library in the British Museum (No. 
1596), compiled in the reign of King Henry 
the Sixth. It is not supposed to have been 
before printed, nor has any other copy of it 
been met with in manuscript ; there is how- 
ever a striking coincidence of idea in Mr. 
Gilbert Cooper's beautiful elegy entitled "A 
father's advice to his son," as well as in the 
old song of "It's good to be merry and wise;" 
which the more curious reader may consult 
at his leisure. 

Ltstenyth all, and ze well here 

How the wyse man taght hys son ; 
Take gode tent to thys matere, 

And fond to lere yf the con. 
Thys song be zonge men was begon, 5 

To make hem tyrsty and stedfast ; 
But zarn that is oft tyme yll sponne, 

Euyll hyt comys out at the last. 



A wyse man had a fayre chyld, 
Was well of fyftene zere age, 

That was bothe meke and mylde, 
Fayre of body and uesage ; 
63 



10 



G^*Cfll of kynde and of corage, 
for he schulde be hys fadur eyre ; 

Hys fadur thus, yn hys langage, 15 

' Taght' hys sone bothe weyll and fayre : 

And sayd, son, kepe thys word yn hart, 

And thenke theron 'tyll thou be ded; 
Zeyr day thy furst weke, 

Loke thys be don yn ylke stede : 20 

Furst se thye god yn forme of brede,* 

And serue hym ' well' for hys godenes, 
And afturward, sone, by my rede, 

Go do thy worldys besynes. 



Forst, worschyp thy god on a day, 25 

And, sone, thys schall thou haue to 'mede,' 
Skyll fully what thou pray, 

He wyll the graunt with outyn drede, 
And send the al that thou hast nede 

As 'far' as meser longyyth to strech, 30 
This lyfe in mesur that thou lede, 

And of the remlant thou ne rech. 



Ver. 16, That. V. 18, thyll. V. 22, wyll. V. 26, mad. 
V. 30, for. 

* i. e. go to mass. 



496 



HOW THE WISE MAN TAUGHT HIS SON. 



And, sone, thy tong thou kepe also, 

And be not tale wyse be no way, 
Thyn owen tonge may be thy fo, 35 

Therfor beware, sone, j the pray, 
Where and when, son, thou schalt say, 

And be whom thou spekyst oght ; 
For thou may spcke a word to day 

That seuen zere thens may be forthozt. 40 

Therfore, sone, be ware be tyme, 

Desyre no offys for to bere, 
For of thy noyborys mawgref, 

Thou most hem bothe dysplese and dere, 
Or ellys thy self thou must ' forswere/ 45 

And do not as thyn offys wolde, 
And gete the mawgrefe here and there, 

More then thank a thousand fold. 

And, sone, yf thou wylt lyf at ese, 

And warme among thy neyburs syt, 50 
Lat newefangylnes the plese 

Oftyn to remewe nor to flyt, 
For and thou do thou wantys wyt, 

For folys they remewe al to wyde ; 
And also, sone, an euyl ' sygne' ys hyt, 55 

A mon that can no wher abyde. 

And, sone, of syche thyng j the warne, 

And on my blyssyng take gode hede, 
Thou vse neuer the tauerne ; 

And also dysyng j the forbede : 60 

For thyse two thyngys, with outyn drede, 

And comon women, as j leue, 
Maks zong men euyle to spede, 

And ' falle' yn danger and yn myschefe. 

And, sone, the more gode thou hast, 65 

The rather bere the meke and lowe ; 
Lagh not mych for that ys wast, 

For folys ben by laghing ' knowe.' 
And, sone, quyte wele that thou owe, 

So that thou be of detts clere ; 70 

And thus, my lefe chylde, as j ' trowe,' 

Thou mest the kepe fro davngere. 

And loke thou wake not to longe, 

Ne vse not rere soperys to late ; 
For, were thy complexion neuyr so strong, 

Wyth surfet thou mayst fordo that. 76 
Of late walkyng oftyn debate, 

On nyztys for to syt and drynke 
Yf thou wylt rule thyn astate, 

Betyme go to bed and wynke. 80 



Ver. 45, for swete. V. 55, sagne. V. 64, fulle. 
snone. V. 71, trewe. 



V. 68, 



And, sone, as far furth as thou may, 

On non enquest that thou come, 
Nor no fals wytnesse bere away, 

Of no manys mater, all ne sum: 
For better the were be defe and dowm, 85 

Then for to be on any enquest, 
That aftyr myzt be vndurnome, 

A trewe man had hys quarel lest. 

And, sone, yf thou wylt haue a wyfe, 

Take hur for no couetyse, 90 

But loke, sone, sche be the lefe, 

Thou wyfe bywayt and wele awyse, 
That sche be gode, honest, and wyse, 

Thof sche be pore take thou no hede, 
For sche ' schal' do the more seruys, 95 

Then schall a ryche with owtyn drede. 

For better it is in rest and pes, 

A mes of potage and no more, 
Then for to haue a thousand mes, 

With gret dysese and angyr sore. 100 

Therfore, sone, thynk on thys lore, 

Yf thou wylt haue a wyfe with ese, 
By hur gode set thou no store, 

Thoffe sche wolde the bothe fesse and sesse. 

And yf thy wyfe be meke and gode, 105 

And serue the wele and ' plesantly', 
Loke that thou be not so wode, 

To charge hur then to owtragely ; 
But then fare with hur esely, 

And cherysch hur for hur gode dede, 110 
For thyng ouerdon vnskylfully, 

Makys wrath to grow where ys no nede. 

I wyl neyther glos ne ' paynt,' 

But waran the on anodyr syde, 
Yf thy wyfe come to make pleynt, 115 

On thy seruandys on any syde, 
Be nott to hasty them to chyde, 

Nor wreth the or thou wytt the sothe, 
For wemen yn wrethe they can not hyde, 

But sone they reyse a smokei rofe. 120 

Nor, sone, be not jelows, j the pray, 

For, and thou falle in jelosye, 
Let not thy wyfe wyt in no way, 

For thou may do no more foly; 

Ver. 95, schalt. V. 106, plesantyl. V. 113, praynt. V. 
118, The MS. reads wreth the not, hut the word 'not is in- 
serted hy a different, though very ancient, hand, which 
has corrected the poem in other places; and is certainly 
redundant and improper. 



BARTHRAM'S DIRGE. 



497 



For, and thy wyfe may onys aspye 125 

That thou any thyng hur mystryst, 

In dyspyte of thy fantesy, 

To do the wors ys all hur lyst. 

Therfore, sone, j byd the 

Wyrche with thy wyfe as reson ys, 130 
Thof sche be seruant in degre, 

In som degre she felaw ys. 
Laddys that ar bundyn, so haue j blys, 

That can not rewle theyr wyves aryzt, 
That ruakys wemen, so haue j blys, 135 

To do oftyn wrong yn plyzt. 

Nor, sone, bete nott thy wyfe j rede, 

For ther yn may no help ' rise,' 
Betyng may not stond yn stede, 

But rather make hur ' the to despyse:' 140 
Wyth louys awe, sone, thy wyfe chastyse, 

And let fayre wordys be thy zerde ; 
Louys awe ys the best gyse, 

My sone, to make thy' wyfe aferde. 

Nor, sone, thy wyfe thou schalt not chyde, 

Nor calle hur by no vyleus name, 146 

For sche that schal ly be thy syde, 

To calle hur fowle yt ys thy schame ; 
Whan thou thyne owen wyfe wyl dyffame, 

Wele may anothyr man do so : 150 

Soft and fayre men make tame 

Herte and buk and wylde roo. 

And, sone, thou pay ryzt wele thy tythe,* 
And pore men of thy gode thou dele ; 

And loke, sone, be thy lyfe, 155 

Thou gete thy sowle here sum hele. 



Thys werld hyt turnys euyn as a whele, 
All day be day hyt wyl enpayre, 

And so, sone, thys worldys wele, 

Hyt faryth but as a chery fare. 160 

For all that euyr man doth here, 

Wyth besynesse and trauell bothe, 
All ys wythowtyn were, 

For oure mete, drynk, and clothe ; 
More getys he not, wythowten othe, 165 

Kyng or prynce whether that he be, 
Be hym lefe, or be hym loth, 

A pore man has as niych as he. 

And many a man here gadrys gode 

All hys lyfe dayes for othyr men, 170 

That he may not by the rode, 

Hym self onys ete of an henne ; 
But be he doluyn yn hys den, 

Anothyr schal come at hys last ende, 
Schal haue hys wyf and catel then, 175 

That he has gadred another schal spende. 

Therfor, sone, be my counseyle, 

More then ynogh thou neuyr covayt, 

Thou ne wost wan deth wyl the assayle, 
Thys werld ys but the fendys bayte. 180 

For deth ys, sone, as I trowe, 

The most thyng that certyn ys, 
And non so vncerteyn for to knowe, 

As ys the tyme of deth y wys ; 
And therfore so thou thynk on thys, 185 

And al that j haue seyd beforn : 
And Ihesu ' bryng' vs to hys blys, 

That for us weryd the crowne of thorn. 



artfrram's Jirp, 



This beautiful and most touching fragment 
was originally published in the " Border Min- 
strelsy ;" we know far too little concerning 
it to satisfy the interest it excites. Accord- 
ing to Sir Walter Scott, it was "taken down 
by Mr. Surtees (the historian of Durham 
county) from the recitation of Anne Douglas, 



Ver. 135, The latter half of this line seems repeated by 
mistake. V. 138, he. V. 140, to deppyse thee. 

* The author, from this and other admonitions, is sup- 
posed to have been a parson. 



an old woman who weeded in his garden." 
Her memory, however, was defective, and she 
was enabled to preserve only snatches of the 
old song — the breaks thus left were filled up 
by Mr. Surtees ; so that the appended copy is 
in reality made complete, — even so far as it 
exists, — by the aid of a modern pen. " The 
hero of the ditty," says Sir Walter, " if the 
reciter be correct, was shot to death by nine 

Ver. 180, The latter part of this stanza seems to be want- 
ing. V. 187, brynd. 



498 



BARTHRAM'S DIRGE. 



brothers, whose sister he had seduced, but 
was afterwards buried, at her request, near 
their usual piece of meeting, which may ac- 
count for his being laid, not in holy ground, 
but beside the burn. The name of Barthram, 
or Bertram, would argue a Northumbrian 
origin; and there is, or was, a Headless 
Cross, among many so named, near Elsdon in 
Northumberland. But the mention of the 
Nine-Stane Burn, and Nine-Stane Rig, seems 
to refer to those places in the vicinity of Her- 
mitage Castle (the scene of the Ballad of Lord 
Soulis), which is countenanced by the men- 
tioning our Lady's Chapel. Perhaps the hero 
may have been an Englishman, and the lady 
a native of Scotland, which renders the catas- 
trophe even more probable. The style of the 
ballad is rather Scottish than Northumbrian. 
They certainly did bury in former days near 
the Nine-Stane Burn ; for the Editor remem- 
bers finding a small monumental cross, with 
initials, lying among the heather. It was so 
small that, with the assistance of another 
gentleman, he easily placed it upright." 
Upon one passage — 

" A friar shall sing for Barthram's soul, 
While the headless cross shall bide" — 

Mr. Surtees observes, that in the return made 
by the Commissioners on the Dissolution of 
Newminster Abbey, there is an item of a 
chauntry for one priest to sing daily ad cru- 
cem lapideam. Probably many of these 
crosses had the like expiatory solemnities for 
persons slain there. 

The ballad is, no doubt, founded upon some 
actual occurrence ; for the incident it relates 
must have been common enough in the old 
days of Border warfare — when to national 
animosity was frequently added the stimulus 
of personal wrong. Of the hapless Barthram, 
however, and the lady who " tore her ling 
long yellow hair," and 

" Plaited a garland for his breast, 
And a garland for his hair," 

we know nothing, even from tradition. 

But the composition carries with it a con- 
viction that its foundation was in truth. The 
picture is at once so striking, so touching, and 
so impressive, as to leave no doubt that Barth- 
ram was left 



" Lying in his blood, 
Upon the moor and moss," 

and that the hand of a loving but unhappy 
woman 

" Cover'd him o'er with the heather flower, 
The moss and the lady-fern." 

The fragment is classed by Sir "Walter 
among Historical Border Ballads — the ballads 
that relate events which we either know " ac- 
tually to have taken place, or which, at least, 
making due allowance for the exaggerations 
of poetical tradition, we may readily conceive 
to have had some foundation in history," — 
such ballads as were current on the Border, 
and which, although now existing but in 
" scraps," were once universally chaunted — 

" Young wemen, whan thai will play, 
Syng it among thaim ilk day." 

" Who will not regret," exclaims Sir Wal- 
ter Scott, " that compositions of such interest 
and antiquity should be now irrecoverable ? 
But it is the nature of popular poetry, as of 
popular applause, perpetually to shift with the 
objects of the time ; and it is the frail chance 
of recovering some old manuscript, which can 
alone gratify our curiosity regarding the ear- 
lier efforts of the Border Muse. Some of her 
later strains, composed during the sixteenth 
century, have survived even to the present 
day ; but the recollection of them has, of late 
years, become like that of a ' tale which was 
told.' " 

As to the mode in which some of these " old 
and antique songs" have been preserved, we 
have a few striking notes in the "Border 
Minstrelsy." — "Whether they were origi- 
nally the composition of minstrels professing 
the joint arts of poetry and music, or whether 
they were the occasional effusions of some 
self-taught bard, is a question into which I 
do not mean to inquire. But it is certain 
that, till a very late period, the pipers, of 
whom there was one attached to each Border 
town of note, and whose office was often here- 
ditary, were the great depositaries of oral, 
and particularly of poetical tradition. About 
spring time, and after harvest, it was the cus- 
tom of these musicians to make a progress 
through a particular district of the country. 



BORTHWICK'S DECREE. 



499 



The music and the tale repaid their lodging, 
and they were usually gratified with a dona- 
tion of seed corn. By means of these men 
much traditional poetry was preserved, which 
must otherwise have perished. Other itine- 
rants, not professed musicians, found their 
welcome to their night's quarters readily in- 
sured by their knowledge in legendary lore. 
The shepherds also, and aged persons, in the 
recesses of the Border mountains, frequently 
remember and repeat the warlike songs of 
their fathers. This is more especially the case 
in what are called the South Highlands, 
where, in many instances, the same families 
have occupied the same possessions for cen- 
turies." 

It was from the latter source that Sir Wal- 
ter chiefly drew the materials for his work ; — 
they wei'e, he states, " collected during his 
early youth ;" and among the notes to the 
latest edition of the " Minstrelsy" is the fol- 
lowing : — " There is in the library at Abbots- 
ford a collection of ballads, partly printed 
broadsides, partly in MS., in six small vo- 
lumes, which, from the handwriting, must 
have been formed by Sir Walter Scott while 
he was attending the earlier classes of Edin- 
burgh College." Buchan's collection was 
gathered directly as they fell from the lips of 
old people. We rejoice to learn that his rug- 
ged, but primitive and interesting volumes, 
are about to be reprinted "by subscription" — 
they have been long out of print. 

They shot him dead at the Nine-Stane Rig, 

Beside the Headless Cross, 
And they left him lying in his blood, 

Upon the moor and moss. 



They made a bier of the broken bough, 
The sauch and the aspin gray, 

And they bore him to the Lady Chapel, 
And waked him there all day. 

A lady came to that lonely bower, 
And threw her robes aside ; 

She tore her ling long yellow hair, 
And knelt at Barthram's side. 



10 



She bathed him in the Lady-Well, 

His wounds so deep and sair ; 
And she plaited a garland for his breast, 15 

And a garland for his hair. 

They rowed him in a lily-sheet, 

And bare him to his earth ; 
And the Gray Friars sung the dead man's 
mass, 

As they pass'd the Chapel Garth. 20 

They buried him at the mirk midnight, 
When the dew fell cold and still, 

When the aspin gray forgot to play, 
And the mist clung to the hill. 

They dug his grave but a bare foot deep, 25 
By the edge of the Nine-Stone Burn, 

And they cover'd him o'er with the heather- 
flower, 
The moss and the lady fern. 

A Gray Friar staid upon the grave, 
And sang till the morning tide ; 30 

And a friar shall sing for Barthram's soul, 
While the Headless Cross shall bide. 



0rtlrl»itlt's gum. 



In the vicinity of North Berwick (a small 
fishing town nine miles from Dunbar), rises 
North Berwick Law, a steep mountain, whose 
height from base to summit is computed at 
three miles. There is a tradition in the 
neighbourhood that Borthwick would give 
his daughter only to that suitor who should 
bear her to the summit of the mountain with- 
out setting her down. To this proposal the 



heir of Cockburnspath joyfully acceded, and 
the adventure terminated as it has been de- 
scribed in the ballad. From the top of North 
Berwick Law a beautiful prospect presents 
itself to the eye. The shores of Fife, with 
Canny Edinbro', may be distinctly seen. The 
" Ewe and the Lamb" are two isolated rocks 
not far from the shore. The " Bass" is too 
well known to require any notice. A short 



500 



BORTHWICK'S DECREE. 



distance from the town of North Berwick, on 
a sloping cliff, is situated a ruined tower, 
which is still pointed out by the fishermen as 
the abode of the " Manly Borthwick of old." 
Such trials of strength as narrated in the 
ballad were by no means uncommon. In the 
Iliad, a Grecian king is indebted for his wife 
to his skill in the dance, having " kept the 
floor" (to use a border expression) against 
all competitors, and tired them out. 

Borthwick of North Berwick Law, 

Wons in his Seaward Tower — 
Which looketh on to the German Sea, 

A wild and lanely Bower. 

The sea mew and the shrieking gull, 5 

May sing him to his sleep, 
For the wash o' the wave comes oure the top 

0' Borthwick's auncient keep. 

Fair is the winding vale o' Tweed, 

Fair is the dawn of day, 10 

Fair is the opening of the spring, 
And sweet the gush of May. 

But fairer, rarer, sweeter far, 

Is Borthwick's Isabel, 
She hath an eye — a rosy lip, 15 

What tongue her charms can tell. 

Up in the morning early oh, 

Up in the early morn ; 
Who lies abed when abroad he may go, 

With hounds and hunting horn ? 20 

Up rose the heir of Cockburnspath, 

And a wilfu' youth is he, 
" Let there be danger in the way, 

My true love I'll go see." 

" Nay, do not go to North Berwick," 25 

His trusty yeoman said, 
" For Borthwick's scouts lay on the lea, 

To take thee quick or dead. 

" Love gives me strength, love gives me speed, 
Love aids me where I go ; 30 

Not for his scouts will I turn back, 
Or lout to them I trow." 

He had not gone abune a mile, 

A mile or barely three, 
When four stout hallyons unawares, 35 

Sprung on him from the lea. 



And they have bound his arms ahint 

With cord and hempen band, 
"Does Borthwick treat me in this sort, 

Like a thief upon your land ?" 40 

" Wha' finds the wolf, or prowling tod 

Within the Laird's domain, 
Small weight shall rest upon his head 

Who hath the vermin slain." 

" Why do I find thee here, young man, 45 

Thou heir of Cockburnspath ; ' 
To come sae soon when warnit away 

Is daurful of our wrath. 

" Did I not say, a fathers nay 

Forbid thy coming here ; 50 

A true man's word should kept thee back, 

Why come in such effeir ? 

" My dochter Isabel is trothed 
To Murray o' Marshall's Mead, 

Why thrust thy self beneath my sword, 55 
Why court her for thy greed ?" 

" Every man may chase the hare 

So long as runs it free, 
Every man drinketh of the Burn 

That sings unto the sea." 60 

" Every man's no, is not a ' Nay,' 

For now and evermore ; 
I may yet swim unto the land 

When thrust out from the shore. 

"What Murray o' Marshall Meadows hath, 
Do I not hold the same ? 66 

He hath no more or I enough 
Of bravery and fame. 

" If he has noble blood and birth, 

Strong limbs ! why so have I ; 70 

If Murray outbrags me at a game 
Gude faith then let him try. 

" Thy dochter is no sheep or steer 
That thou shouldst market her ; 

I'll bid thee a bode, and give thee a fee, 75 
If thou bringst her to the -fair." 

Borthwick he thought awhile, and then 

Ettled the laugh in his eye, 
Then turn'd to Murray, and daffin spake 

To Cockburn ryghte courteously. 80 



BORTHWICK'S DECREE. 



501 



" I will not have ye fight this out, 

Much hetter it were I wisse, 
To set ye both at a trial of skill, 

In a game of pleasantness. 

" The laugh kills not as swords can do, 85 

The tongue knit with a jest, 
Flytes at a stab and cannot wound 

The body with unrest. 

" Who carries my dochter to Berwick Law, 
Here from, and back again ; 90 

No let or stop upon the ground 
Shall have my child for his pain. 

" For we come of the manly Borthwicks still, 

In the auld and auncient days, 
"Who better loved the trick o' strength, 95 

Than the dark and bloody ways. 

" Call hither my dochter Isabel, 

Now Murray I speak it so, 
Carry my bairn to North Berwick Law, 

Or here thy suit forego." 100 

Loud laughed the Lord o' Marshall's Mead, 

" I bear no maid," said he ; 
" She that is lady o' my love, 

Must bear the weight o' me." 

" A craven's boast is quickly said," 105 

The heir of Cockburn cried ; 
" Come, Isabel, thou art fit one 

That I should make my bride 

" Throw off thy shoes, my pretty bird, 

Thy girdle and pearl necklace ; 110 

A pin's point almost weighs a pound 
Before I end my race. 

" For to the top of North Berwick Law, 

Is three long miles and more, 
And the heavy toil up the mountain side 115 

Will make it seem a score." 

He took her in his manly arms, 

And started in his race, 
Never a one who followed him 

Could keep up with his pace. 120 

And now he sung as the banks grew steep, 
And made him pant and blow ; 

" Love gives me strength, love gives me speed, 
Love aids me where I go. 



"Lay still within my arms, sweet luve, 125 

Lay still my Isabel ; 
For the gully's deep and the scaur is steep, 

And the distance it is fell. 

"Give me a glance o' thine hazel eye, 

When I falter in my race, 130 

Or breathe the breath of thy honey mou' 
Upon my heated face." 

" Love gives me strength, love gives me 
speed," 

Undauntedly he sung ; 
And wi' the burden o' his sang, 135 

The rocks around him rung. 

" Seest thou the top of the mountain yet ?" 

Unto his luve he cried ; 
" Nothing but heather and ling around," 

Fair Isabel said and sighed. 140 

" I see the Isle of May, and the Bass, 
And the Yewe and Lamb in the sea, 

The shores o' fife, the Dunbar coast, 
Wi' canny Edinbrie." 

" O Isabel, I 'gin to faint, 145 

For the way is long and steep ;" 

The pretty maiden bowed her head, 
And long, long did she weep. 

" O that I were a Bird this once, 

But now and for thy sake, 150 

O Willie sweet, have courage yet, 

And one mair effort make. 

" O give me not to Murray's arms, 

I'll breathe upon thy face ;" 
It freshened him, and he upward rushed, 155 

New heartened in the race. 

He staggered now, for his legs grew tired, 
And his arms were weak as tow ; 

And as he strove to keep his feet, 
He fiicker'd to and fro. 160 

" That ever love should not be light, 

That ever that form of thine 
Should tire my heart, and stoutest limbs, 

And bid my courage tyne." 



" O faint not yet, I see the top, 
And a Saugh tree by a stone." 

Poor Willie he gathered up his strength, 
And his heart sent forth a groan. 



165 



502 



SIR GILLUM OF MYDELTOUN. 



" My Isabel, my strength does fail, 
And the top we have not won ;" 

" Oh Willie, dear, one struggle mair, 
Ere strength and hope are gone." 



170 



He clenched his teeth and drew hard his 
breath, 

Like a man to win or die ; 
Then did he rush o'er scaur and bush, 175 

And gained the mountain high ! 

lie gained the Saugh tree, and he placed 

Fair Isabel on a stone, 
And forward fell upon his face 

Wi' a deep and hollow groan. 180 

Borthwick the youth raised in his arms, 
" He'll come roun' when he's nurst." — 

But the blood cam' ow're poor Willie's lips, 
For his very heart had burst. 



There's a green grave on North Berwick 
Law, 185 

And a maniac comes and sings, 
And wi' the burden o' her sang 

The valley 'neath her rings. 



" Love gave him strength, love gave him 
speed," 

So sings this mad damsel ; 190 

"Never a love was yet so fayre 

But fortune it was fell." 

A hunter ranged one early morn, 

The top o' Berwick Law, 
Wi' her cauld cheek on a caulder stane, 195 
Withouten stir, withouten moan 

Yon fair Mayden he saw. 



Sir iiltam at PgMtomt. 



This is a tradition, common amongst the 
fishermen of Holy Island and the Main, which 
I have woven into a ballad. The feat of Sir 
Gillum is not original, some Irish Knight on 
the coast of Ireland having performed the 
same action ; the prophecy and the results 
being the same. Who Sir Gillum of Middel- 
ton was, I am at a loss to discover. Romero, 
who is introduced as King of the Holy Isle, 
was governor thereof in the time of Edward 
the Third; he was afterwards governor of 
Coldingham, where he was surprised with his 
companions, and brutally murdered by a ma- 
rauding party of Scots. He was given to 
piratical expeditions on his own account, and 
inherited his plundering propensities from his 
forefathers, who no doubt had often launched 
their sea bark to the inspiring strains of the 
Scalds and Minnesingers. 

Bede calls Lindisfarn a Semi Island, and 
as he justly observes, twice a continent in one 
day ; for at the flowing of the tide it is en- 
compassed with water, and at the ebb there 
is an almost dry passage both for horses and 
carriages to and from the main land ; from 
which if measured in a straight line it is dis- 
tant two miles eastward ; but on account of 
several quicksands, passengers are obliged to 



make so many detours that the distance is 
almost doubled. The water over these flats 
at spring tide is only seven feet. At the 
north-west part of the island, a tongue of 
land runs into the sea about a mile in length. 
At the southernmost point is a rock of a coni- 
cal figure, whereon is the Baron's " Castle of 
red rock stone," almost perpendicular, sixty 
feet in height, and crowned by a small for- 
tress. There are four caves or coves as they 
are called, to the north-north-east of the island, 
and in one of these Sir Gillum 

Stabled his dappled steed 

In a cave on the eastern shore. 

The largest of these caves is upwards of fifty 
feet long, with an entrance just large enough 
to admit a man. 

The principal feature of any interest on this 
island is its venerable abbey, now in utter 
ruins. 

" The abbey," says Pennant, " retayns at 
this day one singular beauty ; the tower has 
not formed a lantern, as in other cathedrals : 
but from the angles, arches spring, crossing 
each other diagonally to form a canopy roof." 
One of these arches yet remains unloaded 



SIR GILLUM OF MYDELTOUN. 



503 



■with any superstructure, supported by the 
south-east and north-east pillars, and orna- 
mented with zigzag moulding : a " granite 
rainbow," as a gentleman termed it. The 
whole abbey is composed of a soft red free- 
stone, and renders the aspect of the place 
dark and forbidding. 

"In Saxon strength that abbey frowned." 

Marmion. 

The rock on which the castle of " red rock 
stone" stands, is inaccessible save only by a 
winding path, belting the rock on the south- 
ern side. A fortress in this situation, before 
the use of gunpowder, must have been impreg- 
nable ; the castle being above any engine's 
reach, and the rocks too high to be scaled. A 
small detachment was kept here during the 
war, but was discontinued in 1819. 

When days are long and nights are short, 
And the sky is bright and sheen, 

And merrily sing the cushat and merle 
From out the leavis so green. 



"When trouts leap at a Summer fly, 5 

And hay be newly mawn, 
To see his luve in the Holy Isle, 

Gaed Gillum of Mydeltoun. 

He cantered over the Fenham flats, 

When the tide was back the while, 10 

Which once a day doth change that spot 
From Continent to Isle. 

The quicksands lurk by Manuel's head, 

And deep is Waren's Bay ; 
Yet gallantly with eident hand 15 

Sir Gillum rude on his way. 

Romero's daughter looked from her bower 

Over the wave-ribbed sand, 
And she spied Sir Gillum, her own true 
knight, 

Midway the isle and the land. 20 

She donned her kirtle o' Lincoln's green, 

Which was of the silk so fair, 
And she went forth to the eastern shore, 

To taste the caller air. 
64 



Sir Gillum he stabled his dapple steed 25 

In a cave on the eastern shore ; 
Its roof and sides were of the rock, 

And the sand drift was its door. 

Romero is proud, and is almost King 

Of Farn and the Holy Isle ; 30 

No man dare say to this Baron, " nay," 
Yet hope to live the while. 

Romero was drinking at the board, 

In his castle of red rock stone, 
A youth cam' in, and before his stool 35 

He laighly louted down. 

"Thy dochter walks on the eastern shore 

With Gillum of Mydeltoun ;" 
The Sea King, wi' gobelet in his hand, 

He strake the youth on the croun. 40 

" Thou liest, thou churlish loon," he cried, 

" With Gillum of Mydeltoun !" 
And he churned his teeth like a boar in rage, 

And girned at the trembling loun. 

" Gillum, he slew my sister's sonne 45 

Last Whitsun tryst was a year ; 

His mither sail weep his loss the night 
Were he a Soldan's peer. 

" Bring me a rope, and an oaken staff, 
And I will bind him fast ; 50 

Short be his shrift, for he shall swing 
From yonder tall top mast." 

The mother wept for her dochter's fame, 

That ever she gave her birth ; 
Quo' he, " Our abbey has dungeons enow 55 

To hide her shame from earth." 

He girded his sword unto his thigh ; 

A sting that oft had stang ; 
And he's away wi' henchman an' rope 

Mydeltoun's heir to hang. 60 

These yonge luvers walkit on the sea shore, 
The Baron he gnawed at his thoomb ; 

O they were twa pullets in gleesome play, 
When the fox crawls thro' the broom. 



Gillum he kissed fayre Annie's cheek, 
As pleasantly did they chat ; 

The Baron he mutter't between his teeth, 
" I'll notch thy face for that." 



65 



504 



SIR GILLUM OF MYDELTOUN. 



lie waited until the rising tide 

Covered the yellow sand ; 
Then rose he up from the waving bent 

With his faulchion in his hand. 



TO 



" I will not leave thee, fayre Annie, but kisse 

Thy sweete lips o'er and o'er ; 
An armful of rushes shall be my bed, 75 

In my steed's cave on the shore." 

" 'Twere better thou goest," fayre Annie she 
cried, 

" For a swieven I had of thee ; 
That a ratton it louped into my neck, 

And rugget me grievously." 80 

Sir Oillum he heard a voice loud cry, 
" Bold traytor, turn and stand !" 

And he saw the Baron upon the bent, 
Wi' his faulchion in his hand. 

" Yield thee or fight thee, bold traytor, 85 

My top mast to swing doun ;" 
" I will do neither, an I wisse," 

Quoth Gillum of Mydeltoun. 

" Thou art my Annie's father," he said, 
" Albeit an enemy ; 90 

I will not battle against thy hand, 
For the love 'tween Annie and me." 

The Baron and henchman closed on him, 
When Sir Gillum he drewe his blade ; 

And whistled the sword around his head, 95 
As stern defence he made. 

He clove the henchman to the teeth 

Wi' a downright wicked blow ; 
Parted his head, as the halflings fell 

Upon his shoulders low. 100 



lie threw the Baron a heavy fall, 
And bore fayre Annie away, 

Untill he gained the eastern neuk, 
And heard his charger neigh. 

He placed fair Annie in saddle seat ; 

And then sprung up afore, 
And plunged his gude steed in " the sea, 

And swam for Fenham shore. 

"A purse of gold for a coble boat, 

To catch yon cursed thief; 
A beggarly Scot to be her mate, 

Good lord, I had as lief." — 



105 



110 



Four fishermen sprang to their boat, 

Four fishers I trow were they ; 
Wi' a heave and shout they ran her out, 115 

And their boat launched in the sea. 

Three times the surging waters washed 

Fair Annie from her place, 
And thrice Sir Gillum held her fast, 

AVithin his close embrace. 120 

Three miles and more is Fenham shore 

Unto the Holy Land ; 
And like a swan, the steed it swam, 

Till he reached the yellow sand. 

The steed it swam, and the coblo shot, 125 
Whilst the fishers rax'd at the oar, 

Was ne'er such a race, the steed I say 
First landed at Fenham shore. 

* •:•:- * * * 

As Gillum rode up Chester Hill, 

He met a woman old ; 130 

She craved him there to give her alms, 

For in sooth her limbs were cold. 

He drew a noble from his purse, 

And gave it yon eldern dame ; 
" Pray for me, gude wife," he said, " for the 
road 135 

Is not oft trod I came." 

She gave an eildricht laugh at the gold: 

Thy fortune I will prie, 
Not every knight so gallant and brave 

Doth give his gold so free." 140 

She told him then some proven truths, 

That long ago had past ; 
" The bonny beast you ride upon 

Shall be your death at last." 

He patted the neck of his courser fleet, 145 
" Good mother, you do but jest ; 

For Rupert is gentle, swift, and good, 
As a child at a nourice breast !" 

" The wierd is written in heaven," she said, 
" And scartit in hell below ; 150 

Rupert will lay thee on thy bier 
In mickle dool and woe." 

" Alas and well a day !" he cried, 

" That ever it should so fall ; 
That I must slay the noblest steed 155 

That was ever stabled in stall." 



THE DEATH OF KING MALCOLME. 



505 



He rode fleete Rupert down to the sands, 
For his herte was sad with woe ; 

The tears were in Sir Gillum's eyes, 

For he loved that courser soe. 160 

Slowly Sir Gillum he lighted doun, 

Took off the saddle and reins ; 
Quo' he, " I am about to make 

Small guerdon for thy pains." 

He drew his sword so sharp and bright, 165 

And turned away his eye, 
For his heart was soft, that he might not see 

That peerless charger die. 

But love o' life will turn the scale, 

In man or beast at need ; 170 

Sir Gillum jaloused the safer way, 
Was e'en to kill his steed. 

He struck fleete Rupert aneath the leg, 
The blood spun frae the wound, 175 

Till the noble charger moaned in pain, 
And so fell on the ground. 

He turned his eye to Sir Gillum's face, 

And said, but with nae tongue, 
" Did I carry thee thro' the rushing tide 180 

For thee to do this wrong V 

***** 

Sir Gillum is happy, Sir Gillum is proud, 
For a mother is Annie his bride ; 

And wi' a frien' in the sweet spring time, 
He walkit forth in his pride. 185 



He passed where the bones o' his proud 
charger 

Were bleaching in the wind ; 
And Sir Gillum he said, "A better steed 

In Englonde thou couldst not find, 

" Than was the fleete one that lieth here ; 

The tod and the corby crow 190 

Have fed upon his peerless limbs, 

And his flesh and blood also. 

" 'Twas told me once that my fleete Rupert," 

He said in laughing mood, 
" Should be my death ; so I slew the steede, 

That my life should still be good." 196 

He careless kicked his horse's head, 

Whitening in sun an' the rain, 
When a splinter o' bone strake into his foot, 

And caused him mickle pain. 200 

The leech he cannot cure that wound, 

And still it mortifyes ; 
In spite of skill, or of earthly will, 

Sir Gillum of Mydeltoun dies. 

" A foolish wierd has proven ryghte: 205 

Farewell, my fayre Annie, 
For the faithful steed I slew in my need, 

Is now avenged on me. 

" Where Rupert's bones lie in the mist, 

O Annie, lay my corse ; 210 

And let that knight take most delight, 
To cherish the steed that has borne him in 
fyghte, 
And never slay his Horse." 



%\t 8wt& at Jimg IMata 



Is founded on the historical facts subjoined. 
Alnwick Castle appears to have been a place 
of great strength immediately after the Nor- 
man Conquest ; for in the reign of King 
William Rufus, it underwent a remarkable 
siege from Malcolm the Third, King of Scot- 
land, who lost his life before it, as did his 
son Prince Edward. The most authentic 
account of this event seems to be that given 
in the ancient Chronicle of Alnwick Abbey, 
of which a copy is preserved in the British 
Museum. This informs us, that the castle, 



though very strong, was in danger of being 
taken by assault ; and being cut off from all 
hopes of succour, was on the point of sur- 
rendering, when one of the garrison under- 
took to rescue it by the following stratagem. 
He rode forth completely armed, with the 
keys of the castle tied to the end of his spear, 
and presented himself in a suppliant manner 
before the king's pavilion, as being come to 
surrender up the possession. Malcolm too 
hastily came forth to receive him, and received 
a mortal wound. The assailant escaped 



500 



THE DEATH OF KING MALCOLME. 



through the river, -which was then swoln with 
rain. The Chronicle adds, that his name 
was Hammond, and that the place of his 
passage over the river, was long after known 
by the name of " Hammond's Ford ;" proba- 
bly where the bridge was afterwards built. 
Prince Edward, Malcolm's eldest son, incau- 
tiously advancing to revenge his father's 
death, received a wound, of which he died 
three days after. The spot where Malcolm 
was slain is distinguished by a cross, which 
was restored in 1774, by Elizabeth, Duchess 
of Northumberland, who was immediately 
descended from the unfortunate king, by his 
daughter Queen Maud, wife of King Henry 
I. of England. The west side of the cross 
bears the inscription, " Malcolm ye third, 
King of Scotlande was slain on this 6pot, 
besieging Alnwick Castle, Nov br . 13, a.d. 
M.XCIH." On the east side, "Malcolm's 
Cross decayed Jdj time, was restored by his 
descendant, Elizabth Duchess of Northumb d , 
M.D.CCLXXIV." The Cross has three steps 
to the pedestal ; on the north side are sculp- 
tured a crown and thistle, and on the south 
side a lion rampant, with other devices. The 
pedestal and capital of the old Cross still 
remain amongst the adjoining trees. 

The sun was glinting thro' the shaws, 

And flowered the elder tree, 
When Malcolme, King o' braid Scotland, 

Rose up from the dew wet lea. 4 

Sing oh so mournfully, so dulefully. 

He held wild Morkall in Alnwick Towers, 

Wi' a ring o' armed men ; 
And all his warriors tented round, 

Were thousands three and ten. 

Sing oh. &c. 10 

He pressed so sorely on the walls, 
They were like to eat the stane ; 

They slaughtered hounds and pinin' yauds, 
Picked rattons to the Bane. 

Sing oh, &c. 15 

Morkall he swore to eat his gluves, 

Or ere he yields the wa's, 
And they are made of good doe's hide, 

That louped in Durham's shaws. 

Sing oh, &c. 20 



His bauldest men can hardlings bear 
The weight o' their iron graith ; 

A mother wad scaircely ken't her son 
In that griesly band o' death. 
Sing oh, &c. 



25 



It was upon a day in Spring, 
When the scent came frae the thorn, 

The Scottice monarch summon't them, 
With three waughs o' the horn. 

Sing oh, &c. 30 

" Come doun from out your castell grey, 

That wons upon the hill, 
Or by the rood, we'se shed your blood, 

For we are sworn to kill." 

Sing oh, &c. 35 

Morkall he glinted ower the walls, 
" So draw off a space your men; 

I yield my trust nae help arrives, 
And Alnwick Castle's taen. 

Sing oh, &c. 40 

"But give to me your kingly word, 

Ere I draw asp or bolt, 
Ten minutes to come, ten minutes to gae, 

Your faith and truth as a Scottice king, 
I'se meet you on the holt. 45 

Sing oh, &c. 

"And I'll give up my Castle's keys 

To thee, thou Scottice king ; 
The bravest men in a' the Merse 

Can dow but as they ding." 50 

Sing oh, &c. 

"My hand and gluve, my faith and troth, 

I give to thee also ; 
And I'll grant thee thy liberty, 

With leave to come and go." 55 

Sing oh, &c. 

Wight Hammond mounted then his steed, 
And he look'd to girth an' strap ; 

And wi' the keys on his Border spear, 

Out ower the Brig he lap. 60 

Sing oh, &c. 

He pricked his charger cannily, 
For the brute had na' that force ; 

Nae corn in the garner, or oats in the bin, 
And the fire will leave a horse. 65 

Sing oh, &c. 



THE DEATH OF KING MALCOLME. 


507 


There was a fechtin his mind, 


Then siccan a cry o' wild revenge, 




For his cheek was deadly wan ; 


Did earth and heaven stoun ; 




And he purset his broos like one beset 


The birds that skim'd alang the air, 




With a deep and deadly ban. 70 


For very fright fell doun. 


115 


Sing oh, &c. 


Sing oh, &c. 




His mind was set to do a deed, 


The Scots are arming for the fight, 




And he struck his rowells hard, 


O siccan a fearful shout, 




The beast* sprung forth with na' corn in his 


They rushed red wud to the Castle gates, 


wame, 


Like a herd o' frightened nowte. 


120 


He near fell o'er the yird. 75 


Sing oh, &c. 




Sing oh, &c. 


Now haud thy ain thou wild Morkall, 




He forded the Aln at the fall o' the hill, 


For the Scots rage all below ; 




An arrow's flight from the towers, 


Thou'st fought in mony a battle field, 




And on the knowe King Malcolme stood, 


But never so wild a foe. 


125 


Surroundit by his powers. 80 


Sing oh, &c. 




Sing oh, &c. 


From bendit bows, like winter's sleet, 




Bauld Hammond check'd his bridle rein, 






Some ten yards frae the King ; 
He lowered his bassen'd cap, and stood 


Shafts flyter thro' the sky ; 
They bend the bonny mangonel, 
And the stanes in showers fly. 
Sing oh, &c. 


130 


Up in his stirrup ring. 85 




Sing oh, &c. 






Some on ilk ither's shouthers mount, 




" I bear the keys o' Alnwick Gates ;" 


Whilst reeking tar and pitch, 




He said wi' saucy air ; 


With blocks and bars and het water, 




" I hold them forth, let him wha likes 








Fell warriors in the ditch. 


135 


Come tak them gin' he dare." 90 
Sing oh, &c. 


Sing oh, &c. 




A score o' Chiefs put forth a stap, 


O, O, the sin ! 0, 0, the din ! 




But Malcolme staid them a' ; 


That men should warsle so, 




" Now feint a hand shall tak those keys, 


They backward bore the bloody King, 




Save him wha gives the law." 95 


From that green and fatal knowe. 


140 


Sing oh, &c. 








Bauld Hammond's spear hath gashec 


his 


He walkit thro' the yellow broom, 


brows, 




Fell Hammond he waited near ; 


His skull is bark't and riven, 




He met him full, and in Malcolme's eye 


And the priest wi' words o' grace and luve, 


He thrust his Border spear ; 100 


The dying King hath shriven. -^ 


145 


Sing oh, &c. 


Sing oh, &c. 




And turning round fled down the bank, 


Yedward the Prince, that fated thrust 




And squattered thro' the ford, 


Doth honours to thee bring ; 




And gained the Castell ; brig and baulk 


Of braid Scotland and Combernauld, 




Bight willingly were lower'd. 105 


It makes thee mighty King. 


150 


Sing oh, &c. 


Sing oh, &c. 




Oh Jesu ! 'twas a fearful sight 


The battle sounded loud and clear — 




To see that kingly man ; 


Frae' his bed o' rushes dried, 




Strake thro' the skull, whilst royal blood 


Like one strong in life the King louped 


up, 


Left cheeks and haffets wan. 110 


And his slogan wild he cried. 


155 


Sing oh, &c. 


Sing oh, &c. 





508 



THE SLAUGHTER OF THE BISHOP. 



Sightless and feckless did he turn 

His face to the fechtin band ; 
He could na' speak, but he fetched his breath 

And deadly shook his hand. 160 

Sing oh, &c. 



but for ae glance o' his eagle eye, 
0' heaven's blessed light ; 

To die as should become a Chief, 
In the midst o' yonder fight. 
Sing oh, &c. 



He warsled wi' his agony, 

And to die like a mangy tyke — 

His Kingly soul flew frae his lips, 
In a wild unearthly shriek. 

Sing oh, &c. 



165 



L70 



His soul and life fled from his flesh, 
His hawkis eyes were shent ; 

He backward fell, a bloody corpse, 
Ere his body touched the bent. 
Sing oh, &c. 



175 



The deed stack to the bauld Hammond, 

And for his joust sae grim, 
Because he pierced King Malcolme's eye, 

Piercy they curson't him. 180 

Sing oh, &c. 

They biggitt a cross whare Malcolme fell, 
Where Hawthorn blossoms wave ; 

I tell na lie, for ye yet may see, 

King Malcolme's bloody grave. 185 

Sing oh so dulefully, sae mournfully. 



Ifre Sliwjpr of % psfrffp. 



The slaughter of the Bishop is mentioned 
in Brand's History of Durham ; what was 
the offence of this prelate, the historian does 
not say ; perhaps it was a question of tithes, 
or moi-e probably some ecclesiastical change, 
to which the people offered resistance, and in 
the heat of their fury, they broke in upon 
him and slew him. " The old Chapel by the 
gate," as the Chronicler avers, might well 
answer to the old Chapel in Gateshead. The 
watch word of the murderers was "gude 
redde, shorte redde, slay ye the Bischoppe," 
meaning probably, a good riddance ; or as 
" redde" stands for counsel in the old ballads, 
it may have meant the latter. 

He hath broughte King William's honde. 

That it was a weighty matter affecting 
some reformation in the Church, we are led 
to believe by the Priest being armed with 
King William's word (that is the parchment), 
with the law or order signed by the King 
(William I.). 

The Black Friars and the White, 
And eke the lowly Greye. 

There were Monasteries of all these orders 
in Newcastle, during the period of which we 



write. There are squares still known by the 
name of " Black Friars, White Friars," and 
several lanes called "Grey Friars, Low 
Friars, Crutched Friars," &c. 

And, My masters, he sayd, what means this 
effeir ? 

" Bodin in effeir," a Border phrase, to come 
armed for battle. 

Rose high as Saynt Nicholasse. 

See the Ballad of " Earl Moray." 

He clave the woode, when strange to tell 
Out gushed a streame of bloode. 

A miracle occurred on the feast of St. Os- 
win (which the author has copied in the pre- 
sent ballad). "On the feast of the passion 
of St. Oswin (a Saxon martyr and king), aa 
a sailor was cutting a piece of wood on board 
his schippe at Newcastle-on-Tyne, he saw 
blood gush out of it in great abundance ; re- 
collecting the festival he gave over work, but 
a companion of his, regardless of the miracle, 
persisted in his profane business ; and upon 
striking the wood, the blood gushed out in 
still greater abundance. Both clergy and 



THE SLAUGHTER OF THE BISHOP. 509 


laity were informed of this, and approved the 


The stowne of tongues grewe threateninge, 


miracle ; the wood was carried to Tynemouth, 


As the Bischoppe tended masse ; 


where the Saint's hodie was interred, to he 


But the shoutingo and the people's groans, 


there preserved in testimony thereof." 


Rose highe as St. Nicholasse. 




Gude redde, &c. 40 


Bede, 




Knowne for hys sanctitie. 


The Bischoppe rushed to the altarr stone, 




For he was a hasty nianne ; 
And, " My masters," he say'd, " what means 


See the life and writings of the Venerable 
Bede. 


this effeir ?" 




When arose arounde the banne. 


The Bischoppe has come with King William's 


Gude redde, &c. 45 


worde 




To the Chapell by the gate ; 


They closed uppone the Durham Saynt, 


But he may rue his journeyings, 


To split his shaven crowne, 


Or ere it be too late. 


When he helde the preciouse crosse aloofe, 


Guderedde, short redde, slay ye the Bischoppe. 


Where our Savioure looked downe. 




Gude redde, &c. 50 


The people are there, with hanging looks, 6 




And no man cries, " God blesse 


But the howlinge men of the gate 


Thee thou Bischoppe of King Willyam, 


Preste on to slaye the Prieste, 


Arrayed in holynesse." 


So he withdrew into the chappelle, 


Gude redde, &c. 10 


As a sanctuarie of reste. 




Gude redde, &c. 55 


He hath broughte Kyng Willyam's honde, 




Written on parchment fayre, 


Uppe came Ringan of Lymington, 


Gif any like to see the wordes 


And Roger of the fenne, 


They in his face shall stare. 


Ned of the Huddocks, St. Dunstone's Cocke, 


Gude redde, &c. 15 


And a host of shrieking menne. 




Gude redde, &c. 60 


The Black Friars and the White, 




And eke the lowlye Greye, 


The Bischoppe stoode, and his snowy hairs 


Walk two's and two's wyth the proud Bisch- 


Were streaming in the blast ; 


oppe, 


Quo he, " Have ye some reverence — " 


A fayre sighte by my faye. 


But the crosse from his gripe they cast. 


Gude redde, &c. 20 


Gude redde, &c. 65 


In and upon the Gateshead streets, 


He hastened to the altarr steppes, 


The people gather and fille, 


And there his courage keppe ; 


Wyth sticks stelle headed, staves and stones, 


A lowsel lifted his partizan, 


The Durham Priest to kille. 


And clave the chappelle steppe. 


Gude redde, &c. 25 


Gude redde, &c. 70 


They gather about the holye chappelle, 


He clave the woode, when strange to tell 


And talk of his perfidie; 


Out gushed a streame of bloode ! 


How that he has graspit all the tythes, 


" A mirackle," the Bischoppe criede 


And swept the fat off the lea. 


From the altarr where he stoode. 


Gude redde, &c. 30 


Gude redde, &c. 75 


Ruddie his hue and whyte his haire, 


" It shalle not save thee," fierce Ringan sayde, 


Firm was his browe ; albeyte his eyes 


And the Bischoppes skulle he clave, 


Flamed in his hede lyke coals of fyre, 


When bloode and brains flew all aboute, 


As rounde he looked in wonder wyse. 


On chappelle walle and pave. 


Gude redde, &c. 35 


Gude redde, &c. 80 



510 



THE OUTLANDISH KNIGHT. 



There was a fearfulle crie -went uppe 

For horror at what was done ; 
They fled their wayes, and the Priestte was 
lefte 
Deade ! on the altarr stone. 

Gude redde, &c. 85 

The Monkes of Jarrowe came up the Tyne, 
Wyth St. Cuthbert's banner a' streame, 

And the dyrge rose for the Bischoppes soule, 
The rowers' songe betweene. 

Gude redde, &c. 90 

They gatheret uppe the slaughtered Priestte, 

In his gory robes bedighte ; 
Oh holye Chryste ! his crimsonne bloode 

Had dyed his stole so whyte. 

Gude redde, &c. 95 

They never lyfted oarre or sayle, 
When they hove the bodie aborde ; 



When the boate it grounded in Jarrow Slake, 
As of its owne accorde. 

Gude redde, &c. 100 

Not all the menne in Christendie, 

Forbye Northumberlande, 
Coulde thruste the boate a fadom's lengthe 

From off the tail of the sande : 

Gude redde, &c. 105 

But a gentil winde came from the west, 
And they sung Saynt Cuthbert's hymn, 

And the bodie dryfted to the lande, 
As fast as itt coulde swym. 

Gude redde, &c. 110 

They buryed hym in solemn wyse, 

In Jarrow Monasterie, 
Where lived and prayed the holie Bede, 

Knowne for hys sanctitie. 

Gude redde, &c. 115 



A Border Ballad. 



Ihis Ballad is copied from abroad sheet 
in the possession of a gentleman of New- 
castle ; it has also been published in " Rich- 
ardson's Table Book." The verses with in- 
verted commas are added at the suggestion 
of a friend, as it was thought the Knight was 
not rendered sufficiently odious without this 
new trait of his dishonour. There is in 
Monk Lewis's Tales of Wonder, a translation 
from a German Ballad, on the same subject 
or nearly so ; for the Knight goes to church, 
and meeting with a lovely mayden, 

He skipped o'er benches one or two, 
" Oh lovely maid, I die for you ;" 
He skipped o'er benches two or three, 
" Oh lovely maid, come walk with me." 

The maiden complies ; but it appears the 
Knight proves to be a " most perfidious mon- 
ster," as Trinculo says of Caliban, for he 
entices the pretty maid to cross the river in 
a boat, and when in the centre of the stream 
he sinks with his prey into the waves. Camp- 



bell's well known Ballad of "Lord Ullin's 
Daughter," is on the same subject. 

Who the author of the "Outlandish Knight" 
was, I have no means of discovering, as it is 
one of those Ballads that pass down the 
stream of time unclaimed, and whose author- 
ship is left for the antiquary to discover. 

An Outlandish Knight from the north lands 
came, 

And he came a wooing to me ; 
He told me he'd take me to the north lands, 

And I should his fair bride be. 4 

A broad, broad shield did this stranger wield, 
Whereon did the red cross shine ; 

Yet never, I -ween, had that strange Knight 
been 
In the fields of Palestine. 



And out and spoke the stranger Knight, 
This Knight of the strange countrie ; 

" O mayden fayr, with the raven hayre, 
Thou shalt at my bidding be. 



10 



THE OUTLANDISH KNIGHT. 



511 



" Thy sire he is from home, ladye, 

For he hath a journey gone ; 
And his shaggy blood-hound is sleeping 
sound 15 

Beside the postern stone. 

" Go bring me some of thy father's gold, 

And some of thy mother's fee ; 
And steeds twain of the best, that in the 
stalls rest, 

Where they stand thirty and three." 20 



She mounted her on her milk white steed, 

And he on a dapple grey, 
And they forward did ride till they reached 
the sea side, 

Three hours before it was day. 

Then out and spoke this stranger Knight, 25 
This knight of the north countrie ; 

" mayden fayr with the raven hayre, 
Do thou at my bidding be. 

" Alight thee from thy mylk white steed, 
And deliver it unto me ; 30 

Six maids have I drowned where the billows 
sound, 
And the seventh one shalt thou be. 

" But first pull off thy kirtle fine, 

And deliver it unto me ; 
Thy kirtle of green is too rich, I ween, 35 

To rot in the salt, salt sea. 

" Pull off, pull off thy silken shoon, 

And deliver them unto me ; 
Methinks they are too fine and gay, 

To rot in the salt, salt sea. 40 

" Pull off, pull off thy bonny green plaid, 
That floats in the breeze so free, 

It is woven fine with the silver twine, 
And comely it is to see." 



" If I must pull off my bonny silk plaid, 45 

turn thy back to me, 
And gaze on the sun, which has just begun 

To peer owre the salt, salt sea." 

" Thou art too shameful, fayr maid," he sayd, 
" To wanton so with me ; 50 

I've seen thee in thy holland smock, 
And all to pleasure me." 

" If thou hast seen me in my smock, 

The more shame thee betide ; 
It better beseem'd that tongue not tell, 55 

But rather my sinne to hide. 

" Who ever tempted weak woman 

Unto a deede of evil ; 
To tempt the first and then to twit, 

Beseemeth but the deyvil." 60 

He turned his back on the fayr damselle, 

And looked upon the beam ; 
She graspt him tight with her arms so white, 

And plunged him in the streme. 

The streme it rushed, and the Knight he 
roar'd, 65 

And long with the waters strave ; 
The water kelpies laughed with joy, 

As they smoored him in the wave. 

"Lie there, lie there, thou false hearted 
Knight, 

Lie there instead of me ; 70 

Six damsels fayr thou hast drowned there, 

But the seventh has drowned thee." 

The ocean wave was the false one's grave, 

For he sunk right hastily ; 5 
Tho' with bubbling voice he pray'd to his 
saint, 75 

And utter'd an Ave Marie. 



65 



512 



COCIIRANE'S BONNY GRIZZY. 



€ttt\xm'$ §onng drfeg. 



This Ballad commemorates the matchless 
devotion and indomitable courage of Grizel 
Cochrane, when the tyranny and bigotry of 
James VI. towards his Scottish subjects, 
forced them to take up arms for the re- 
dressal of their grievances. One of the most 
formidable rioters as well as most prominent 
actors in Argyle's Rebellion, was Sir John 
Cochrane, ancestor of the present Earl of 
Dundonald. For ages a destructive doom 
seems to have hung over the house of Camp- 
bell, enveloping in one common ruin all who 
united their fortunes in the cause of its Chief- 
tains. The same doom befell Sir John Coch- 
rane ; for he was surrounded by the King's 
troops, and though he made a desperate resist- 
ance, was overpowered and conveyed to prison 
in Edinburgh. His trial was brief, the judg- 
ment decisive, and the jailor waited but the 
arrival of his death warrant from London to 
lead him forth to execution, when Grizel 
Cochrane, the pride of his life, and the noble 
daughter of his house, determined on rescuing 
her father from the scaffold. Having received 
his blessing, she wended her solitary way to 
Berwick, disguised in a palmer's weeds : and 
robbed the man of the London Mail as de- 
scribed in the Ballad. Every exertion was 
made to discover the robber, but in vain. 
Three days had passed : Sir John Cochrane 
yet lived, and before another order for his 
execution could reach Edinburgh, the inter- 
cession of his father, the Earl of Dundonald, 
with the King's Confessor might be success- 
ful. Grizel now became his only companion 
in prison, and spoke to him words of comfort. 
Nearly fourteen days had now elapsed since 
the commission of the robbery, and protracted 
hope began to make sick the heart of the 
prisoner. The intercession of Dundonald had 
been unsuccessful, and a second time the 
bigoted and despotic monarch signed the 
warrant for Cochrane's death. " The will of 
Heaven be done," exclaimed the nobleman, 
when the jailor informed his prisoner of the 
circumstance. " Amen," said the heroic 
Grizzy with wild vehemence ; " but my father 
shall not die." To save him, as the Ballad 
informs us, 

She aiblins kenned a way. 



Her masculine garments were again in re- 
quisition ; again the rider had almost gained 
the Moor of Tweedmouth, bearing with him 
the doom of Cochrane ; but Grizzy was at 
her post, and again despoiled him of his 
packet. By this second robbery Grizzy in- 
sured her father's life for fourteen days, the 
time then necessary to ride between London 
and the Scottish metropolis. But on this 
occasion, Dundonald and several Lords of 
great worth and consideration, used the time 
so effectually, that Sir John Cochrane was 
liberated and pardoned. 

Grizel Cochrane, whose heroic conduct and 
filial affection we have imperfectly sketched, 
was, according to tradition, the great-grand- 
mother of the late Sir John Stuart of Allan- 
bank, and great-great-grandmother of the 
celebrated Mr. Coutts, the Banker ; but a few 
years ago the author of the Border Tales re- 
ceived a letter from Sir Hugh Stuart, son of 
Sir John, stating that his family would be 
glad to have such a heroine as Grizel con- 
nected with their genealogy ; but that they 
were unable to prove such connexion. A few 
miles from Belford may yet be seen a solitary 
clump of fir trees, walled round, and stand- 
ing by the road side, which is yet called 
"Grizzy's clump," and pointed out as a part 
of the thicket from whence Cochrane's bonny 
dochter fired on the carrier of the mail. We 
have lost much of the wisdom of our ances- 
tors, and amongst other matters, the folly of 
sending one horseman with the mail, who had 
already been despoiled of his charge. 

The warlocks are dancing threesome reels. 

Goswick Links, Kyloe Hills, Lowlinns, &c, 
are places in the immediate vicinity of Grizzy's 
Clump. I am not aware that this Ballad was 
ever printed before, nor have I any knowledge 
if a Ballad on the same subject exists. 

Listen now baith great and semple, 
Whilst I croon to you my sang, 

Ere suchan anither damsell peers, 
The world will cease to wag ere lang : 

For she is the flower o'er a' the bower, 5 

My blessings on Cochrane's Bonny Grizzy. 



COCHRANE'S BONNY GRIZZY. 



513 



Her feyther lay lang in the Embro jail, 

Wearin fast to his end, 
For his head maun be swept clean frae his 
shouthers, 9 

"When the warrant the King shall send ; 
Singing waes me, wi' the tear in her e'e, 
Did Cochrane's bonny dochter mourn. 

She kist her feyther's lyart locks, 

Unkemtt for mony a day; 
And she said, " To save my feyther's life, 15 

I aiblins ken a way : 
Gie me thy luve, that I fortune prove ?" 
Quo Cochrane's bonny dochter. 



She rode awa' thro' the straggling toun, 

Of beggart Hadingtoun, 
Syne by Dunbar, thro' the Coppersmith, 

Till to Berwick she has come : 
And she rappit ryghte loud on the barred 



20 



Did Cochrane's bonny dochter. 

She slept all night, and she rose betimes, 25 
And cross'd the lang brig o' the Tweed ; 

And ouer the moor at Tweedmouth brae, 
Sair dragglit was her woman's weed ; 

And lightin doun by Haggerston Shaws, 

Did Cochrane's bonny Grizzy. 30 

A cloak she drew frae her saddle bag, 

Wi' trunks and a doublet fayre, 
She cut off wi' a faulding knife, 

Her long and raven hair ; 
And she dressed herself in laddies claiths, 
Did Cochrane's Bonny Grizzy. 36 

The horseman rode intill Bedford toun, 

Wha' carry't the London Mail, 
Bauld Grizzy she sought the hostel out, 

And there wi' a couthy tale, 40 

Forgathered wi' the London post, 
Did Cochrane's Bonny Grizzy. 

She roared the loudest af them a', 
Quo the fallow, " My canty chiel, 

Deil blaw my pipes yere the crack o' the wa', 
And the best amang the hail." 46 

In the dead of night did they gang to their 
beds, 

And so gaed Cochrane's dochter. 

She rose ower the bed, ere the second cock, 
Went j imply alang the floor ; 50 



She's stown her fayther's death warrant, 

Whilst the lubbert loud did snore. 
She's gained the hills ere the hue and cry 
They raisit on Cochrane's dochter. 

But the King can write anither brief, 55 

For a' the first be stown ; 
And once again the fallow rode, 

Wi' the warrant frae London town : 
Now out and alas, what can she do ? 
For the heart o' Grizzy sank. 60 

The red sun went down o'er the sea, 
And the wind blew stiff and snell, 
And as it shot by Grizzy's lugs, 
• It sounded auld Cochran's knell ; 
" But downa despair, -'tis a kittle carle," 65 
Said Cochrane's bonny dochter. 

The larch and the tall fir shrieked wi' pain, 
As they bent before in the wind, 

And down there fell the heavy rain, 

Till sense and e'en were blind ; 70 

" A lang night 'tis ne'er sees a day," 

Quoth Cochran's undaunted Grizzy. 

The warlocks are dancing threesome reels, 

On Goswick's haunted links, 
The red fire shoots by Ladythorne, 75 

And Tarn wi' the lanthorn fa's and sinks ; 
On Kyloe's hills there's awfu' sounds, 
But they frighted not Cochrane's Grizzy. 

The moon beams shot from the troubled sky, 
In glints o' flickerin light, 80 

The horseman cam skelping thro' the mire, 
For his mind was in affright ; 

His pistol cocked he held in his hand, 

But the fient a fear had Grizzy. 

As he cam' fornenst the Fenwicke woods, 85 
From the whin bushes shot out a flame ; 

His dappled filly reared up in affright, 
And backward over he came ; 

There's a hand on his craig, and a foot on his 
mouth, 

Twas Cochran's Bonny Grizzy. 90 

" I will not tak'thy life," she said, 
" But gie me thy London news ; 

No bloode of thine shall fyle my blade, 
Gin me ye dinna refuse:" 94 

She's prie'd the warrant, and away she flew, 

Wi' the speed and strength o' the wild curlew. 



514 



YOUNG RATCLIFFE. 



Love will make a foe grow kind, 

Love will bring blossom where bud is 
naught, 
Love hath softened a kingly mind ; 99 

Grizzy hath mercy to councillors taught. 
Her friends at court have prieven the life 
0' Grizzy's banished feyther. 



She's wedded unto a German knicht, 
Her bairnies blyth wi' her sire remain, 

She's cust the laddies cloots awa, 105 

And her raven hair is growing again. 

What think ye, gentles o' every degree, 

Of Cochrane's Bonny Grizzy ? 



|0«ng gaUlifft. 



The hero of this ballad, which appears 
for the first time in print, was James Rad- 
cliffe, third Earl of Derwentwater, who was 
beheaded for high treason on Tower Hill, in 
1716. The circumstances that led to his 
untimely fate (for he was only in his 26th 
year) are set forth in the ballad. His last 
request, to be buried with his ancestors at 
Dibston, — a romantic spot situated on the 
banks of a small stream that flows into the 
Tyne between Corbridge and Hexham, — was 
refused ; but either a sham funeral took 
place, or his body was secretly conveyed 
from London ; for, on the family vault being 
opened some years ago, the corpse was found 
in a high state of preservation. The ample 
estates of the Ratcliffe family were declared 
forfeited ; and transferred to the use of 
Greenwich Hospital. 

Young Ratcliffe looked frae Dilston ha', 
When he heard the trumpets bray ; 

" And wha comes here in sic effeir?" 
This nobleman did say. 

There looted his ladye by his side, 5 

And a buirdly dame was she, 
She cam from a stock of ungentle bluid, 

Albeit of high degree. 

" It means," quo' she, " my gentle luve, 
Jamie has taen the bent, 10 

And whoso follows not his flag 
Sail never be content. 

" The pick of a' the western hills, 

With nordern Billies to boot, 
Have thrown up caps for bonny James, 15 

Sprung frae a royal root. 



" Why hangs my luve ahint the rest, 

Why mope in sullen mood ? 
One of less wealth wad be content, 

To peril lands and blood." 20 

Quo' Ratcliffe, " Gin that I had less, 

I might be moved to fight; 
But then to lose my heritage 

Wad be a sorry sight." 

"And shall it be my lord does halt, 25 

Not knowing what to do ? 
The best of schemes will often fail, 

If not gane boldly thro." 

Out answered Derwentwater bold, 

" Why prop a falling tree ? 30 

When does the Stuart's kingly cause, 
Lie rotting on the lea. 

" 111 speed and bloodshed never yet 

Brought fortune to a cause ; 
Never a man out prospered right, 35 

That broke his country's laws. 

" If he had right, and I less wealth, 

I might adventure more ; 
But honey luve, thou knowst small ships 

Should keep well in the shore." 40 

Loud storm't the Lady o' Dilston Hall, 

Wi' a glunching o' disdain ; 
" When others seek the smile o' kings, 

To stay were ruth and shame. 



" How could I live to hear my luve 
Shamed as a coward man ? 

Were I a Lord, in the foremost rank 
I' fight for King and Ian'." 



45 



YOUNG RATCLIFFE. 



515 



"Och," then quo' he, "my hinny sweet, 
Wha nothing has to tyne 50 

May boldly fight, not he who owns 
Sic hills and dales as mine. 

" I could not lose my bonny holts, 
Or shaws and knowes so green, 

Where poppling by the moss grown stanes, 
The waters flash between. 56 



" Were all around me not my ain, 

I'd freely gan the gate ; 
Wha has nae fortune fights more bold 

Than one with large estate." 



60 



65 



Quo' she, " Shame fa' upon Ratcliffe, 

Or ever I was told, 
My husband snooves awa from fight, 

For greed of yellow gold. 

" That ever weary waefu' gear 
Should mar so fair a cause, 

That ever to stand by Jamie's side 
Should make my Ratcliffe pause. 



" There's Kenmure's up wi' the western lads, 
Roy wi' the Highlandmen, 70 

And Lochiel's clan, wi' pipes to their teeth, 
Are skirling down the Glen ; 

" There's Fenwickes, and Ilerries, and Fos- 
ters too, 

Wi' the feck of Cumberland, 
Are ganging to tryst on Stagshaw Bank, 75 

To meet Northumberland. 



" Think not I'd peril thy sweet life, 
Thy fame more rich I prize ; 

A coward's name," quo' the wily dame, 
" When branded never dies. 



80 



" The smallest drop o' my Ratcliffe's blood 

Is far more dear to me 
Than all the ryches ever sunk 

In the waters of the sea." 

He sprung awayj wi' a brow o' fire, 85 

Gave three skips thro' the ha' ; 
And cried, " Hurrah for Jamie yet, 

What ever may befa'. 

" Go saddle me my Marigold, 

That browses on the lea ; 90 

My father' s'helmet and his sword, 

So likewise bring to me." 



The robin cheeped a dolorous note, 
With the corn craik from the lea, 

The owlet gave an eerie skriegh, 
As he louped to saddle tree. 



95 



He looked down on the shaws and woods, 

Syne up to his castle hall ; 
On the waving trees, and flowery banks, 

By the burnie's wimpling fall. 100 

It raised sore tews in Ratcliffe's breast, 

To leave his plenished house ; 
And the grooms out cried, "The game's nae 
worth, 

Sin Ratcliffe sings sae crouse." 

But he saw the eye of his buird Countesse 
Glint blythe and bonnily ; 106 

" Forth fortune," he cried, " and fetters fill, 
Heigh, Jamie oure the lea." 

Young Ratcliffe called for the stirrup cup, 
Ere he rode down the brae ; 110 

He'se bid them never stint the wine, 
Whatever men may say. 

He flung the glass right oure his shouther, 
When he had drained the toast ; 

He kist his glov't hand to the Ha', 115 

For oh he loved it most. 

There's stir upon Newcastle Streets, 
In Morpeth Town there's noise ; 

And Berwick Johnnies wi' Cambo Billies, 
Fratch wi' the Hexham boys. 120 

The brash o' Alnwick shout and fling, 

Deil gin they never tire ; 
And the news o' the rise thro' the country 
flies, 

Like the flash o' levin fire. 

To Jamie's flag cam ridin in, 125 

The flower of all that's fayre; 
But the fause Joblins, wi' the Johnsons 
coarse, 

Gude faith lad were na there. 



There was a battle in the North, 
'Twas siccan a bloody fight, 

Where many noblemen were slain, 
And young Ratcliffe gat the wyte. 



130 



516 



YOUNG RATCLIFFE. 



That Biccan a cause suld ever fail ! 

The prince has fled the land ; 
Wi' Balmerin and auld Lovatt, 135 

Bauld Ratcliffe take his stand. 

And he has written a lang letter, 

Unto his Lady fair, 
" Ye maun come up to London town, 

To see your Lord once mair." 140 

When first she looked the letter on, 

She was baith red and rosy ; 
But ere she read a word or twa, 

She wallowt like a lily. 

" Gae get to me my gude grey steed, 145 

My menzie a gae wi' me, 
For I shall neither eat nor drink 

Till London town shall see me." 

And she has muntit her good grey steed, 
Her menzie a gaed with her ; 150 

And neither did she eat or drink 
Till London Town did see her. 



she fell on her bended knees, 
I wat's she's pale and weary ; 

" pardon, pardon, noble King, 
And gie me back my dearie. 



155 



"I hae born sons to my Ratcliffe dear, 

The last ne'er saw his daddie ; 
Oh pardon, pardon, noble King, 

Pity a waefu' ladie." 100 

" Go bid the headis-man make haste," 

Our King did loudly cry ; 
" For as I live, or wear a crown, 

Yon bold traytor shall die." 



Kenmures came, and Fenwickes ran, 165 
And they were stark and steady ; 

And a the word among them a', 
Was " Ratcliffe, keep ye ready." 

An aged man at the King's right hand, 
Says "Noble King, but hear me ; 170 

Gar her tell down ten thousand pounds, 
And gie her back her dearie." 

Quo' Geordie, "Not for all the goud 

That ever a King could tell, 
It shall not save young Ratcliffe's life, 175 

From the axe he's earned full well." 

And then appeared the fatal block, 
And syne the axe to head him ; 

And Ratcliffe coming down the stair, 

Wi' bands o' airn they lead him. 180 

But tho' he was chain'd in fetters strong, 

That gyved his noble limb, 
There was nae ane in a' the court, 

That looked sae bra' as him. 

He clasped his lady by the waist, 185 

And kist her lips sae red ; 
" Be mindful of my youngest bairn, 

When is his father dead." 

Geordy has taen sae sair a fright, 

He's no safe in his hall ; 190 

And the tane and the tither maun hauld their 
gabs, 

Young Ratcliffe's head maun fall. 

His blood has watted the Tower block, 

And dyed his yellow hair ; 
His Countess sits wailing in Dilston Halls, 

But Ratcliffe is na there. 196 



THE FAIR FLOWER OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 



517 



% \t Jair Jlote at ItflttljumbtrlimiL 



This Ballad treats of the betrayal and de- 
sertion of a daughter of " the good Erie of 
Northumberland ;" but which Earl, or in 
what age it happened, there are no means of 
ascertaining, further than he was a Scottish 
Knight, who proved untrue to his vows. 
" The fraud of man was ever so, since Sum- 
mer first was leafy," so writes Shakspeare, 
who took it in turn from that truly old Eng- 
lish Ballad, "It was a Friar of Orders Grey," 
attributed with I know not what justice to 
Beaumont and Fletcher. The last verse but 
one is added, as I thought the ends of Ballad 
justice would not be fulfilled, if the false 
Knight should escape condign punishment. 
Chopping the spurs from a Knight's heel, 
was the very height of degradation, a kind of 
knightly drumming out ; whilst breaking the 
sword over the culprit's head was always re- 
sorted to, preparatory to execution for treason- 
able or disgraceful offences. 

It was a Knight in Scotland born, 

Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

Was taken prisoner, and left forlorn 

Even by the good Erie Northumberland. 

Then was he cast in prison strong, 5 

Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

Where he could not walk or lay along, 
Even by the good Erie Northumberland. 

And as in sorrow thus he lay, 

Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 10 
The Erl's sweet daughter walks that way, 

And she is the fair Flower of Northumber- 
land. 

And passing by like ane angel bryght, 
Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

The prisoner had of her a sight, 15 

And she the fair Flower of Northumber- 
land. 

And aloud to her this Knight did cry, 
Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

The salt tears standing in his eye, 

And she the fair Flower of Northumber- 
land. 20 



" Fair lady," he said, " take pity on me, 
Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

And let me not in prison die, 

And you the fair Flower of Northumber- 
land." 

" Fair Sir, how should I take pity on you? 

Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 26 
Thou being a foe to our countrie, 

And I the fair Flower of Northumberland." 

" Fair lady, I am no foe," he sayd, 
Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 30 

" Through thy sweet love here was I stay'd, 
For the fair Flower of Northumberland." 

" Why shouldst thou come here for love of 
me, 

Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 
Having wife and children in thy country, 35 

And I the fair Flower of Northumberland." 

" I swear by the blessed Trinity, 
Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

I have no wife or children, I, 

Nor dwelling at home in merry Scotland. 

" If courteously thou wilt set me free, 41 
Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

I vow that I will marry thee, 

So soon as I come to fayre Scotland. 

" Thou shalt be a lady of castles and towers, 
Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 46 

And sit like a queen in princely bowers, 
Were I at home in fayre Scotland." 

Then parted hence this lady gay, 

Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 50 
And stole her fathers ring away, 

To help this Knight in fayre Scotland. 

Likewise much gold she got by sleight, 
Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

And all to help this forlorn Knight, 55 

To wend from her father in fayre Scotland. 



518 



THE FAIR FLOWER OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 



Two gallant steeds, both good and able, 
Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

She likewise took out of the stable, 
To ride with the Knight to fayre Scotland. 

And to the jaylor she sent the ring, Gl 

Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

Who the Knight from prison forth did bring, 
To wend with her into fayre Scotland. 

This token set the prisoner free, 65 

Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

Who straight went to this fair lady, 
To wend with her to fayre Scotland. 

A gallant steed he did bestride, 

Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 70 
And with the lady away did ride, 

And she the fair Flower of Northumber- 
land. 

They rode till they came to a water clear, 
Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

" Good Sir, how should I follow you here, 75 
And I the fair Flower of Northumberland? 

" The water is rough and wonderful deep, 
Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

And on my saddle I shall not keep, 

And I the fair Flower of Northumber- 
land." 80 

" Fear not the ford, fair lady," quo' he, 
Follow my love, come over the Strand; 

" For long I cannot stay for thee, 
And thou the fair Flower of Northumber- 
land." 

The lady prickt her gallant steed, 85 

Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

And over the river swam with speed, 

And she the fair Flower of Northumber- 
land. 

From top to toe all wet was she, 

Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 90 
Thus have I done for love of thee, 

And I the fair Flower of Northumberland. 

Thus rode she all one winter's night, 
Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

Till Edinborough they saw in sight, 95 

The fairest town in all Scotland. 



" Now choose," quo' he, " thou wanton Flower, 
Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

If thou wilt be my paramour, 
Or get thee home to Northumberland. 100 

" For I have a wife, and children five, 
Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

In Edinborough they be alive, 

Then get thee home to Northumberland 

" This favour thou shalt have to boot, 105 
Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

I'll have thy horse, go thou on foot, 

Go, get thee home to Northumberland." 

" O false and faithless Knight," quo she, 
Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 110 

" And canst thou deal so bad with me, 
And I the fayre Flower of Northumber- 
land? 

" Dishonour not a lady's name, 
Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

But draw thy sword and end my shame, 115 
And I the fair Flower of Northumber- 
land." 

He took her from her stately steed, 
Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

And left her there in extreme need, 

And she the fair Flower of Northumber- 
land. 120 

Then sat she down full heavily, 

Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

At length two Knights came ridin by, 
Two gallant Knights of fair England. 

She fell down humbly on her knee, 125 

Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

Saying, "Courteous Knights, take pity on me, 
For I am the fair Flower of Northumber- 
land. 

" I have offended my father dear, 

Follow my love, come over the Strand; 130 
And by a false Knight, who brought me here 

From the good Erie of Northumberland." 

They took her up behind them there, 
Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

And brought her to her home again, 135 
And he the good Earl of Northumberland. 



SYR JOHN LE SPRYNGE. 



519 



They chopped the spurs from the false 
Knight's heels, 
Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 
And broke his sword upon his head, 

For wronging the Flower of Northumber- 
land. 140 



All you fair maydens, be warned by me, 
Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 

Scots never were true, nor ever will be 
To lord, or lady, or fair England. 



(very ancient.) 



This old ballad occurs in Sharpe's Bishop- 
ric Garland, a collection of Songs and Bal- 
lads published in the beginning of this cen- 
tury. The Knight, who was murdered in 
the arms of his leman, " in his bower at 
Houghton," as it is headed in Sharpe's Col- 
lection, would seem to have been a crusader, 
and had probably fought 'neath the " honour- 
giving banner" of Richard I. or Edward I. 
(who in the crusade was wounded by a poi- 
soned dagger). At least the verses hint as 
much. 

Ere the waning Crescent fled ; 
"When the Martyr's palm and golden crown 
Reward Chryst's soldiers dead. 

The crescent was the symbol of Saladin, 
and it is on record, that an ancestor of the 
Percies won a Paynim standard in single 
fight from the Sultan of Trebizond, and after- 
wards adopted the cognisance as his own. 

That Syr John le Sprynge was untrue to 
his marriage vow, is the only supposition we 
can put upon the concluding lines, 

Lordlings, mind how your vows you keep, 
And kiss no leman gay. 

Infidelity seems to have been his crime ; pro- 
bably some of the kinsmen of the infuriated 
and jealous wife tracked the unfortunate 
Knight to the bower, and when 

At dead of night, in the softe moonlyght, 
In his garden bower he lay, 
66 



they broke in upon the guilty slumbers of 
the unguarded Knight. 

St. George's banner was the " oriflamme" 
of the English Crusaders, and hence the bal- 
lad states that 

He fell not in the battle field, 

Beneath St. George's banner bryght. 

St. George seems to have been the tutelary 
Saint of English Knights, from the days of 
King Arthur downwards. 

The murdered Knight, it would appear, 
was buried in the " south aisle" of the 
Church in Houghton ; and until a few years 
ago, there was in the south aisle, the figure 
of a Knight in armour, in the attitude of 
prayer ; the tomb being curiously ornamented 
with sculptures of the Holy Family in niches. 
Above, on a slab of marble, were his arms, 
with this solemn inscription, " Praye for the 
Soule of Syr John le Sprynge." 

The Knight's family would seem to have 
been an ancient one, and their castle was 
probably at Houghton, or near it ; and to 
this they added their patronymic appella- 
tion, calling it Houghton le Sprynge, to dis- 
tinguish it from another town of the same 
name, as there are several Houghtons in the 
shire of Durham. 

Prat for the soule of Syr John le Sprynge, 

When the black Monks sing 

And the vesper bells ring, 
Praye for the soule of a murdered Knight, 
Praye for the soule of Sir John le Spryng. 5 



He fell not before the paynim sword, 

Ere the waning Crescent fled ; 
When the martyr's palm and golden crown 

Reward Chryst's soldiers dead. 

He fell not in the battle field, 10 

Beneath St. George's banner bryght ; 

When the pealyng cry of victory, 

Might cheer the soule of a dying Knyght. 

But at dead of night, in the soft moonlight, 
In his garden bower he lay, 15 

And the dew of sleepe did his eyelids steep, 
In the arms of his leman gay. 

A.nd by murderous hand, and bloody brand, 

In that guilty bower, 

Wyth his paramour, 20 

Did his soule from his body fleete, 

And through mist and mirk and moonlight 
grey, 

Was forced away from the bleeding clay, 
To the dreadful judgment seat. 



In the southermost aisle his coat of mail, 25 

Hangs o'er the marble shrine ; 
And his tyltyng spere is rustyng there, 

His helm and his gabardine. 



And aye the mass priest sings his song, 
And patters many a prayer ; . 30 

And the chaunting bell tolls loud and long, 
And aye the lamp burns there. 

And still when that guilty night returns, 
On the eve of Saynt Barnaby bryght, 

The dying taper faintly burns 35 

Wyth a wan and wavering light. 

And the clammy midnight dew breaks forth, 

Like drops of agony, 
From the marble dank, whilst the armour's 
clank 

Affrights the priest on his knee. 40 

And high overhead, with heavy tread, 

Unearthly footsteps pass, 
For the spirits of air are gathering there, 

And mock the holy mass. 

Lordlings, mind how your vows you keep, 45 

And kiss no leman gay; 
For he that sinks in sin to sleepe, 

May never wake to pray. 

Judge not, sinner as thou art, 

Commune with thy secret herte, 50 

And watch, for thou knowst not the houre, 
But to Jesus bright, and Mary of might, 
Pray for the soule of the murdered Knight, 

That died in the moonlit bower. 



Sa&B Mnn. 



Bothal Castle, the scene of this Ballad, 
is situated on the Wansbeck, three miles 
from Morpeth. It was built by the ancestors 
of the "Bertram," mentioned in the Ballad 
of Lord Hepburn, and in ancient times it was 
a place of considerable strength. It is related 
by tradition, that a " Scotch Knight, named 
Dunbar, bearing a fox's tail in his helmet, as 
a challenge for any man to fight him, travelled 
throughout England, and going towards his 
own country, was encountered by Syr Robert 
Ogle, and slain with a pole-axe, which re- 
mained as a trophy until very lately in the 
great hall of Bothal Castle." The Lord 
Dacre, mentioned as the intended bridegroom 
in the Ballad, may have been the " Dacre" of 



Flodden Field. (For an account of whose 
family, see Scott's "Lay of the last Minstrel") 
He was warden of the Eastern March in the 
reign of Henry VIII. The Umphreville or 
Umfraville, mentioned also as the lover of 
Lady Jean, was descended from a very power- 
ful family, of which there were several 
branches. In the reign of Henry V. we find 
one " Sir Robert Umfraville," prosecuting 
John de Manners, Sheriff of Northumberland, 
and his son, for having killed William Heron, 
Esq., and Robert Atkinson. 

There was formerly at Alnwick an Abbey 
of Premonstratensian Canons. In the Chroni- 
cles of this house, preserved in the library of 
King's College, Cambridge, there is an ao- 



count of a banquet given by Walter de Hep- 
scotes, the Abbot, a.d. 1376, on the day of the 
Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, to 
Henry, the Fourth Lord of Alnwick, and 
thirteen Knights, amongst whom occurs the 
name of " Ingram de Unfraville." The prin- 
cipal scion of the family settled at Otter- 
bourne at a very early period ; and we find 
that at the " Battle of Otterbourne" between 
the Douglas and Percy, Sir llalph de Um- 
phreville performed good "yeoman's service." 
Who the author of this Ballad is, I know 
not : it appeared- in " Richardson's Table 
Book," with the initials R. W. appended to 
it.' It is an old Ballad, and like other re- 
nowned lyrics, whose authors are enveloped 
in mystery, it has become a "waif" and 
"stray" to any Poetical Lord of the Manor 
who may choose to lay claim to it. We may 
suppose Scott to have seen it ; if so, I am 
strongly inclined to believe that it furnished 
the " Young Lochinvar" of the great Novel- 
ist. The incidents are nearly the same as in 
the "Bridal of Netherby," only the hero 
Umphreville, though much talked of, is like 
the " great Timoleon" in the " Grecian Daugh- 
ter," never seen. 

By Bothal's tower, sweet Wansbeck's stream 

Rins bickerin to the sea ; 
Aloft, the breezes of the morn 

The banners waving free. 

There's joy in Bothal's bonny bowers, 5 

There's mirth within the ha' ; 
But oure the cheek of Lady Jean, 

The tricklin tear drops fa'. 

She sits within her chamber high, 10 

Her cousin's by her side ; 
Yet sweir is she to don the dress 

That's fitting for a bride. 

" haste ! Lord Dacre's on his way, 
Ye hae na time to spare ; 15 

Come let me clasp that jimp girdle, 
And braid your glossy hair. 

" Of a' the ladies in the land, 

Yese be surpassed by nane ; 
The lace that's on your velvet robe, 20 

Wi' goud 'ill stand its lane. 



" This jewelled chaplet ye'll put on, 

That broidered necklace gay ; 
For we maun ha' ye buskit well 

On this your bridal day." 25 

" Ellen, you would think it hard 

To wed against your will ; 
I never loved Lord Dacre yet, 

I dinna like him still. 

" He kens, tho' oft he sued for love 30 

Upon his bended knee ; 
Ae tender word, ae kindly look, 

He never gat frae me. 

" And he has gained my mother's ear, 

My father's stern command ; 35 

Yet this fond heart can ne'er be his, 
Although he claim my hand. 



" Ellen, softly list to me, 
I still may scape the snare ; 

This morn I sent to Otterbourne, 
The tidings would be there. 



40 



" And hurrying on, comes Umphreville, 

His spur is sharp at need ; 
There's nane in a' Northumberland 

Can boast a fleeter steed. 45 

" Ah, well I ken his heart is true, 

He will, he must be here ; 
Aboon the garden wa' he'll wave 

The pennon o' his spear." 

" Far is the way, the burns are deep, 50 

The broken muirs are wide ; 
Fair lady, ere your true love comes 

You'll be Lord Dacre's bride. 

" Wi' stately, solemn step, the priest 

Climbs up the chapel stair ; 55 

Alas ! alas ! for Umphreville, 
His heart may well be sair. 

" Keep back, keep back, Lord Dacre's steed, 

Ye mauna trot or gang ; 
And haste ye, haste ye, Umphreville, 60 

Your lady thinks you lang." 

In velvet sheen she wadna dress, 

Nae pearlins oure her shone, 
Nor broidered necklace sparkling bright, 

Would Lady Jean put on. 65 



522 



SIR RICHARD WIIITTINGTON'S ADVANCEMENT. 



Up rose she frae her cushioned seat, 

And tottered like to fa' ; 
Her cheek grew like the rose, and then 

Turned whiter than the wa\ 

" Ellen, thraw the casement up, 70 

Let in the air to me ; 
Look down within the castle yard, 

And tell me what you see." 

"Your fayther's stan'nin on the steps, 
Your mother's at the door ; 75 

Out thro' the postern comes the train, 
Lord Dacre comes before. 

" Fu' yauld and gracefu' lichts he doun, 

Sae does his gallant band ; 
And low he doffs his bonnett plume, 80 

And shakes your father's hand. 

" List, lady, list ! a bugle note, 
It soundeth faintly clear ; 



Up, up ! I see abune the wa' 

Your true love's pennon'd spear." 85 

And up fu' quick gat Lady Jean, 

Nae ailment had she mair ; 
Blyth was her look, and firm her step, 

As she ran down the stair. 

As thro' amang the apple trees, 90 

An' up the walk she flew, 
Untill she reached her true love's side, 

Her breath she scarcely drew. 

Lord Dacre fain would see the bride 

He sought her bower alone ; 95 

And dowf and blunket grew his looks, ' 
When Lady Jean was gone. 

Sair did her father stamp and rage, 

Sair did her mother mourn ; 
She's up and aff with Umphreville 100 

To bonny Otterbourne. 



Sir Sitjrarfo Mptiwjt0n's JtMantfmcnt 



There is something so fabulous, or at least, 
that has such a romantic appearance in the 
history of Whittington, that we shall not re- 
late it ; but refer our readers to common tra- 
dition, or to the histories which are without 
any difficulty to be met with. Certain it is, 
that there was such a man ; a citizen of Lon- 
don, by trade a mercer ; and one who has left 
public edifices, and charitable works enough 
behind him r to transmit his name to posterity. 
Amongst others, he founded a house of prayer ; 
with an allowance for a master, fellows, choris- 
ters, clerks, &c, and an almshouse for thirteen 
poor men, called Whittington College. He en- 
tirely rebuilt the loathsome prison, which then 
was standing at the west gate of the city, and 
called it Newgate. He built the better half 
of St. Bartholomew's Hospital, in West-Smith- 
field ; and the fine library in Gray-Fryars, 
now called Christ's Hospital : as also a great 
part of the east end of Guildhall, with a 
chapel and a library ; in which the records 
of the city might be kept. He was chosen 
sheriff in the seventeenth year of the reign of 
king Richard the Second, and of the Christian 



aera 1393 ; William Stondon, by trade a gro- 
cer, being then mayor of London. After 
which he was knighted ; and in the one and 
twentieth year of the same reign he was 
chosen mayor. Which honour was again 
conferred on him in the eighth year of king 
Henry the Fourth, and the seventh of king 
Henry the Fifth. It is said of him, that he 
advanced a very considerable sum of money 
towards carrying on the war in France, under 
the last monarch. He married" Alice, the 
daughter of Hugh and Molde Fitzwarren : at 
whose house, traditions say, Whittington 
lived a servant, when he got his immense 
riches by venturing his cat in one of his mas- 
ter's ships. However, if we may give credit 
to his own will, he was a knight's son ; and 
more obliged to an English king, and prince, 
than to any African monarch, for his riches. 
For when he founded Whittington College, 
and left a maintenance for so many people, 
as above related, they were, as Stow records 
it (for this maintenance), bound to pray for 
the good estate of Richard Whittington, and 
Alice his wife, their founders ; and for Sir 



SIR RICHARD WHITTINGTON'S ADVANCEMENT. 


523 


William Whittington, and dame Joan 


his 


Whereupon, back again, 




wife ; and for Hugh Fitzwarren, and dame 


Whittington came with speed, 




Molde his -wife, the fathers and mothers 


of 


A servant to remain, 




the said Richard Whittington and Alice his 


As the Lord had decreed. 


40 


wife: For king Richard the Second, 


and 






Thomas of Woodetock, duke of Gloucester, 


Still blessed be the bells, 




Bpecial lords and promoters of the said Rich- 


This was his daily song ; 




ard Whittington, &c. 




This my good fortune tells, 
Most sweetly have they rung. 




Here must I tell the praise 








Of worthy Whittington, 




If God so favour me, 


45 


Known to be in his days 




I will not prove unkind ; 




Thrice lord-mayor of London. 




London my love shall see, 
And my large bounties find. 




But of poor parentage 


5 






Born was he, as we hear, 




But, see his happy chance! 




And in his tender age 




This scullion had a cat, 


50 


Bred up in Lancashire. 




Which did his state advance, 
And by it wealth he gat. 




Poorly to London then 








Came up this simple lad ; 


10 


His master ventur'd forth, 




Where, with a merchant-man, 




To a land far unknown, 




Soon he a dwelling had; 




With merchandize of worth, 
As is in stories shown : 


55 


And in a kitchen plac'd, 








A scullion for to be ; 




Whittington had no more 




Where a long time he pass'd 


15 


But this poor cat as then, 




In labour drudgingly. 




Which to the ship he bore, 








Like a brave valiant man. 


60 


His daily service was 




Vent'ring the same, quoth he, 




Turning at the fire ; 




I may get store of gold, 




And to scour pots of brass, 




And mayor of London be, 




For a poor scullion's hire : 


20 


As the bells have me told. 




Meat and drink all his pay, 




Whittington's merchandise, 


65 


Of coin he had no store; 




Carried to a land 




Therefore to run away, 




Troubled with rats and mice, 




In secret thought he bore. 




As they did understand ; 




So from the merchant-man, 


25 


The king of the country there, 




Whittington secretly 




As he at dinner sat, 


70 


Towards his country ran, 




Daily remain'd in fear 




To purchase liberty. 




Of many mouse and rat. 




But as he went along, 




Meat that on trenchers lay, 




In a fair summer's morn, 


30 


No way they could keep safe ; 




London's bells sweetly rung 




But by rats bore away, 


75 


Whittington's back return ; 




Fearing no wand or staff ; 




Evermore sounding so, 




Whereupon, soon they brought 




Turn again, Whittington ; 




Whittington's nimble cat ; 




For thou, in time, shalt grow 


35 


Which by the king was bought, 




Lord-mayor of London. 




Heaps of gold giv'n for that. 


80 



Home again came these men, 

With their ship laden so, 
Whittington's wealth began 

By this cat thus to grow ; 

Scullion's life he forsook, 85 

To he a merchant good, 
And soon began to look 

How well his credit stood. 

After that, he was chose 

Sheriff of the city here, 90 

And then full quickly rose 

Higher as did appear: 

For to the city's praise, 

Sir Richard Whittington 
Came to be in his days 95 

Thrice mayor of London. 

More his fame to advance, 
Thousands he lent the king, 

To maintain war in France, 

Glory from thence to bring. 100 

And after, at a feast 

Which he the king did make, 
He burnt the bonds all in jest, 

And would no money take. 



Ten thousand pounds he gave 

To his prince willingly; 
And would no penny have 

For this kind courtesy. 

As god thus made him great, 

So he would daily see 110 

Poor people fed with meat, 

To shew his charity : 

Prisoners poor cherish'd were, 
Widows sweet comfort found ; 

Good deeds, both far and near, 115 

Of him do still resound. 

Whittington's college is 

One of his charities ; 
Record reporteth this, 

To lasting memories. 120 

Newgate he builded fair, 

For prisoners to lye in ; 
Christ-Church he did repair, 

Christian love for to win. 

Many more such like deeds 125 

Were done by Whittington ; 

Which joy and comfort breeds, 
To such as look thereon. 



'gift an& 8*atjr at gitfcarb % %\}ix)s. 



A song of the life and death of king Rich- 
ard III., who, after many murthers by him 
committed upon the princes and nobles of 
this land, was slain at the battle of Bosworth, 
in Leicestershire, by Henry VII. king of 
England. 



In England once there reigned a king, 

A tyrant fierce and fell, 
Who for to gain himself a crown, 

Gave sure his soul to hell : 
Third Richard was this tyrant's name, 5 

The worst of all the three ; 
That wrought such deeds of deadly dole, 

That worser could not be. 



For his desires were still (by blood) 

To be made England's king, 10 

Which he to gain that golden prize, 

Did many a wondrous thing : 
He slaughter'd up our noble peers, 

And chiefest in this land, 
With every one that likely was 15 

His title to withstand. 

Four bloody fields the tyrant fought, 

E're he could bring to pass, 
What he made lawless claim unto, 

As his best liking was ; 20 

Sixth Henry's princely son he slew, 

Before his father's face, 
And weeded from our English throne 

All his renowned race. 



LIFE AND DEATH OF RICHARD III. 



525 



This king likewise in London tower, 25 

He murthering made away : 
His brother duke of Clarence life, 

He also did betray, 
With those right noble princes twain, 

King Edward's Children dear, 30 

Because to England's royal crown 

He thought them both too near. 



His own dear wife also he slew, 

Incestuously to wed 
His own dear daughter, which for fear, 

Away from him was fled : 36 

And made such havock in this land, 

Of all the royal blood, 
That only one was left unslain, 

To have his claims withstood. 40 

Earl Richmond he by heaven preserv'd, 

To right his country's wrong, 
From France prepar'd full well to fight, 

Brought o'er an army strong: 
To whom lord Stanley nobly came, 45 

With many an English peer, 
And join'd their forces all in one, 

Earl Richmond's heart to chear. 



Which news when as the tyrant heard, 

How they were come on shore, 50 

And how his forces day by day 

Increased more and more : 
He frets, he fumes, and ragingly 

A madding fury shows, 
And thought it but in vain to stay, 55 

And so to battel goes. 

Earl Richmond he in order brave, 

His fearless army led, 
In midst of whom these noble words, 

Their valiant leader said, 60 

Now is the time and place, sweet friends, 

And we the soldiers be, 
That must bring England's peace again, 

Or lose our lives must we. 



Be valiant then, we fight for fame, 65 

And for our country's good, 
Against a tyrant mark'd with shame, 

For shedding English blood : 
I am right heir of Lancaster, 

Entitl'd to the crown, 70 

Against this bloody *boar of York, 

Then let us win renown. 

Meanwhile had furious Richard set 

His army in array, 
And with a ghastly look of fear, 75 

Desparingly did say, 
Shall Henry Richmond with his troops 

O'er-match us thus by might, 
That comes with fearful cowardice, 

With us this day to fight? 80 

Shall Tudor from Plantagenet 

Win thus the crown away ? 
No, Richard's noble mind foretels, 

That ours will be the day : 
For golden crowns we bravely fight, 85 

And gold shall be their gain, 
In great abundance giv'n to them, 

That live this day unslain. 

These words being spoke, the battels join'd, 

Where blows they bravely change, 90 
And Richmond, like a lion bold, 

Performed wonders strange; 
And make such slaughter through the 
camp, 

Till he king Richard 'spie 
Who fighting long together there, 95 

At last the tyrant dies. 

Thus ended England's woful war, 

Usurping Richard dead, 
King Henry fair Elizabeth 

In princely sort did wed : 100 

For he was then made England's king, 

And she his crowned queen : 
So 'twixt these houses long at strife, 

A unity was seen. 



* Richard was usually called the Boar of York, by reason 
of the hoar he had in his coat of arms. 



526 



THE DOLEFUL DEATH OF QUEEN JANE. 



ffre jp*fal §m\\ at tywm lane, 



WIFE TO KING HENRY VIII., AND THE MANNER OF PRINCE EDWARD'S BEING CUT OCT OF HER 

WOMB. 



One would think it almost impossible that 
there should be the least doubt amongst wri- 
ters, in any point so modern as the fact on 
which this ballad is founded, and yet if we 
search our historians, we shall hardly find 
any of them agreeing in the story of queen 
Jane. We shall not therefore pretend to ad- 
vance anything concerning the manner of her 
death, but shall quote the opinions of some 
of our writers, that every one may be at lib- 
erty to judge for themselves. 

Anne of Bullen, Henry VHIth's second 
queen, being beheaded in the tower for adul- 
tery, king Henry was married the very next 
day to lady Jane ; who, on the 12th of Octo- 
ber (according to the opinion of a vast majo- 
rity), was delivered of a son at Hampton- 
court. But notwithstanding this, Sir John 
Hayward asserts, that prince Edward was 
not born until the 17th; and adds, "All re- 
ports do constantly run, that he was not by 
natural passage delivered into the world, but 
that his mother's belly was opened for his 
birth ; and that she died of the incision the 
fourth day following." Echard, in his history 
of England, is of a very different opinion ; 
where talking of prince Edward's birth, he 
tells us, " That the joy of it was much allayed 
by the departure of the admirable queen, 
who, contrary to the opinion of many writers, 
died twelve days after the birth of this prince, 
having been well delivered, and without any 
incision, as others have maliciously reported." 
Lord Herbert of Cherbury, in his history of 
Henry VIII., asserts, " That the queen died 
two days after her delivery." And indeed he 
has the authorities of Hollingshead and Stow 
to support the assertion. Du Chesne, a na- 
tive of France, who in his history of England 
has undertaken to clear up this point, does 
but perplex us the more: talking of these 
times, he goes on thus : " La royne Jeanne 
estoit alors enceinte & preste a enfanter, mais 
quand ce vint au terme de l'accouchement 
elle eut tant de tourment & de peine, qu' il 



luit fallut fendre le Coste par lequel on tira 
son fruit le douzieme Jour d' Octobre a Win- 

desore Elle mourut douze jours apres et 

fut enterre au Chateau de Windsore." 

When as king Henry rul'd this land, 
He had a queen I understand ; 
Lord Seymour's daughter fair and bright, 
King Henry ? s comfort and delight : 
Yet death, by his remorseless pow'r, 5 

Did blast the bloom of this sweet Flow'r; 

mourn, mourn, mourn, fair ladies; 
Jane your queen, the flower of England's 
dead. 

His former queen being wrapt in lead, 
This gallant dame possess'd his bed ; 10 

Where rightly from her womb did spring 
A joyful comfort to her king, 
A welcome blessing to the land, 
Preserv'd by God's most holy hand. 

mourn, &c. 15 

The queen in travail, pained sore 
Full thirty woful days and more, 
And no ways could deliver'd be, 
As every lady wish'd to see: 
Wherefore the king made greater moan, 20 
Than ever yet his gi - ace had shown. 

mourn, &c. 

Then being something eas'd in mind, 
His eyes a slumbering sleep did find; 
Where dreaming he had lost a rose, 25 

But which he could not well suppose; 
A ship he had, a rose by name ; 
Oh, no! It was his royal Jane. 29 

mourn, &c. 

Being thus perplex'd with grief and care, 
A lady to him did repair, 
And said, king ! show us thy will ; 
The queen's sweet life to save or spill. 
If she cannot deliver'd be, 
Yet save the flow'r, tho' not the tree. 35 

mourn, &c. 



THE HONOUR OF A LONDON 'PRENTICE. 



527 



Then down upon his tender knee, 
For help from heaven prayed he, 
Mean while into a sleep they cast 
His queen, which evermore did last; 40 

And op'ning then her tender womb, 
Alive they took this budding bloom. 

mourn, &c. 

This babe so born much comfort brought, 
And chear'd his father's drooping thought, 
Prince Edward he was call'd by name, 46 
Graced with virtue, wit and fame ; 
And when his father left this earth, 
He rul'd this land by lawful birth. 

mourn, &c. 50 



But mark the pow'rful will of heav'n ; 
We from this joy were soon bereav'n: 
Six years he reigned in this land, 
And then obeyed God's command, 
And left his crown to Mary here, 55 

Whose five years reign cost England dear. 

mourn, &c. 



Elizabeth reign'd next to her, 
Fair Europe's pride, and England's star; 
The world's wonder ; for such a queen 
Under heaven was never seen : 
A maid, a saint, an angel bright, ' 
In whom all princes took delight. 

mourn, mourn, mourn, fair ladies ; 
Elizabeth, the flower of England's dead. 



CO 



f |s JfliMr 0f a fmttom 'fmttia. 



BEING AN ACCOUNT OF HIS MATCHLESS MANHOOD AND BRAVE ADVENTURES DONE IN TURKEY, AND 
BY WHAT MEANS HE MARRIED THE KING'S DAUGHTER, ETC. 



The following song relates to a noble piece 
of chivalry performed in Queen Elizabeth's 
days, and therefore claims a place here ; 
though it must be acknowledged we have not 
been able to discover who the hero was, nor 
any account of the facts on which the ballad 
is founded. 

Of a worthy London 'prentice, 

My purpose is to speak, 
And tell his brave adventures 

Done for his country's sake : 
Seek all the world about, 5 

And you shall hardly find, 
A man in valour to exceed 

A 'prentice gallant mind. 



He was born in Cheshire, 

The chief of men was he, 
From thence brought up to London, 

A 'prentice for to be. 
A merchant on the bridge, 

Did like his service so, 
That for three years his factor, 

To Turkey he should go. 

67 



10 



15 



And in that famous country 

One year he had not been, 
E'er he by tilt maintained 

The honour of his queen, 
Elizabeth his princess, 

He nobly did make known, 
To be the phoenix of the world, 

And none but she alone. 



20 



25 



In armour richly gilded, 

Well mounted on a steed, 
One score of knights most hardy 

One day he made to bleed; 
And brought them all unto the ground 

Who proudly did deny, 30 

Elizabeth to be the pearl 

Of princely majesty. 



The king of that same country 

Thereat began to frown, 
And will'd his son, there present, 

Tft pull this youngster down ; 
Who at his father's words 

These boasting speeches said, 
Thou art a traytor English boy, 

And hast the traytor play'd. 



35 



40 



528 THE HONOUR OF A LONDON 'PRENTICE. 


I am no boy, nor traytor, 


But God that knows all secrets, 




Thy speeches I defy, 


The matter so contriv'd, 


9& 


For which I'll be revenged 


That by this young man's valour 




Upon thee by and by. 


They were of life depriv'd ; 




A London 'prentice still 45 


For being faint for food, 




Shall prove as good a man, 


They scarcely could withstand 




As any of your Turkish knights, 


The noble force, and fortitude, 


95 


Do all the best you can. 


And courage of his hand ; 




And therewithal he gave him 


For when the hungry lyons 




A box upon the ear, 50 


Had cast on him their eyes, 




Which broke his neck asunder, 


The elements did thunder 




As plainly doth appear. 


With the echo of their cryes : 


100 


Now know, proud Turk, quoth he, 


And running all amain 




I am no English boy, 


His body to devour, 




That can with one small box o'th' ear 


Into their throats he thrust his arms, 


The prince of Turks destroy. 5G 


With all his might and power: 




When as the king perceived 


From thence by manly valour, 


105 


His son so strangely slain, 


Their hearts he tore in sunder, 




His soul was sore afflicted 


And at the king he threw them, 




With more than mortal pain : 60 


To all the peoples wonder. 




And in revenge thereof, 


This I have done, quoth he, 




He swore that he should dye 


For lovely England's sake, 


110 


The cruellest death that ever man 


And for my country's maiden queen, 


Beheld with mortal eye. 


Much more will undertake. 




Two lyons were prepared 65 


But when the king perceived 




This 'prentice to devour, 


His wrathful lyons hearts, 




Near famished up with hunger, 


Afflicted with great terror, 


115 


Ten days within the tower, 


His rigour soon reverts, 




To make them far more fierce, 


And turned all his hate 




And eager of their prey, 70 


Into remorse and love, 




To glut themselves with human gore, 


And said it is some angel, 




Upon this dreadful day. 


Sent down from heav'n above. 


120 


The appointed time of torment, 


No, no, I am no angel, 




At length grew nigh at hand, 


The courteous young man said, 




When all the noble ladies 75 


But born in famous England, 




And barons of the land, 


Where God's word is obey'd ; 




Attended on the king, 


Assisted by the heavens, 


125 


To see this 'prentice slain, 


Who did me thus befriend, 




And bury'd in the hungry maws 


Or else they had most cruelly 




Of those fierce lyons twain. 80 


Brought here my life to end. 




Then in his shirt of cambrick, 


The king in heart amazed, 




With silks most richly wrought, 


Lift up his eyes to heaven, 




This worthy London 'prentice 


And for his foul offences 


130 


Was from the prison brought, 


Did crave to be forgiven ; 




And to the lyons given 85 


Believing that no land 




To stanch their hunger great, 


Like England may be seen, 




Which had not eat in ten days space 


No people better govern'd 




Not one small bit of meat. 


By virtue of a queen. 


135 



THE STORY OF ILL MAY-DAY. 



529 



So taking up this young man, 
He pardon'd him his life, 

And gave his daughter to him, 
To be his wedded wife : 



Where then they did remain, 
And live in quiet peace, 

In spending of their happy days 
In joy and love's increase. 



140 



f |* Statu 0f 



IN THE TIME OF KING HENRY VIII., AND WHY IT WAS SO CALLED J AND HOW QUEEN CATHERINE 
BEGGED THE LIVES OF TWO THOUSAND LONDON APPRENTICES. 



The following song is founded upon a fact; 
nor has the writer taken many liberties in 
altering it, having only magnified and illus- 
trated the story. The thing happened on the 
May-eve, of the year 1517, the eighth of Henry 
Vlllth's reign. Numbers of foreigners were 
at that time settled in England, with particu- 
lar privileges ; and our author observes, ran 
away with the greatest part of the trade, 
whilst several of the natives wanted. Exas- 
perated at this, several were for encouraging 
a tumult, but particularly one Lincolnc, a 
broker, who hired a certain preacher, called 
Dr. Bele, to inflame the people by his ser- 
mons. The court perceived what the citizens 
would fain be at, but to prevent them, an 
order was sent by the king and his privy- 
council to the lord-mayor and aldermen, that 
they required every housekeeper, under very 
severe penalties, to take care that all his ser- 
vants and his whole family should be within- 
doors by nine at night ; and this the magis- 
trates were to see punctually performed. This 
order was for some time very well observed, 
but still they wanted only an opportunity of 
rising, which an accident gave them. Two 
apprentices playing in the streets about eleven 
o-clock on the May-eve, the alderman of the 
ward came to arrest them ; but they thinking 
they had more privilege on that night than 
any other, began to call out to their fellows 
for assistance, and so many came running 
out of doors from the neighbourhood, that the 
alderman was forced to fly. Encouraged by 
this, and seeing their numbers increase as 
the rumour of their being up spread, they 
hastened to the prisons where some had been 
committed for abusing strangers, and these 
they first delivered. The lord-mayor and 
sheriffs, and Sir Thomas Moore, who had been 



their recorder, and was very much beloved by 
them, could not with all their persuasions 
restrain them, and force they had not suffi- 
cient to oppose them ; but furiously rushing 
on to the house of a very rich foreigner, 
whom, as he was a great trader, they particu- 
larly hated, they broke open his doors, killed 
every one they met with there, and rifled all 
the goods ; and in other places they com- 
mitted divers other outrages. At length the 
news of this disorder reached the ears of the 
earls of Shrewsbury and Surrey: they rose, 
and taking with them all the inns-of-court 
men, they cleared the streets of the rioters, 
and took numbers of them prisoners. Shortly 
after, the duke of Norfolk, and the earl of 
Surrey, with 1300 soldiers, came into the 
city, and joining the lord-mayor and alder- 
men, proceeded agains* the criminals. Two 
hundred and seventy-eight were found guilty, 
but whether through the intercession of 
queen Catherine, or through a merciful dis- 
position of king Henry, not above twelve or 
fifteen suffered ; Lincolne, with three or four 
more of the most guilty were hanged, drawn 
and quartered ; about ten more were hanged 
on gibbets in the streets, and the lord-mayor, 
aldermen and recorder appearing on the be- 
half of the rest at court, they received a check, 
as if some of the magistracy had connived at 
the riot ; and the rest of the criminals were 
ordered to appear before the king at "West- 
minster in white shirts, and halters about 
their necks ; and with them mixed a great 
number of people, who were not before sus- 
pected, that they might be entitled to a par- 
don ; which the king having granted, he also 
ordered the gibbets which had been erected, 
to be taken down, and the citizens were again 
restored to favour. 



530 THE STORY OF ILL MAY-DAY. 


Peruse the stories of this land, 


Such multitudes together went, 49 


And with advisement mark the same, 


No warlike troops could them withstand, 


And you shall justly understand 


Nor yet by policy them prevent, 


How ill May-day first got the name. 


What they by force thus took in hand : 


For when king Henry th' eighth did reign, 5 


Till at the last king Henry's power, 


And ruled our famous kingdom here, 


This multitude encompass'd round, 54 


nis royal Queen he had from Spain, 


Where with the strength of London's tower, 


With whom he lived full many a year. 


They were by force suppress'd and bound, 


Queen Catherine nam'd, as stories tell, 


And hundreds hang'd by martial law, 


Sometime his elder brother's wife : 10 


On sign-posts at their masters doors, 


By which unlawful marriage fell 


By which the rest were kept in awe, 


An endless trouble during life : 


And frighted from such loud uproars : 60 


But such kind love he still conceiv'd 


And others which the fact repented, 


Of his fair queen, and of her friends, 


(Two thousand prentices at least) 


Which being by Spain and France perceiv'd, 


Were all unto the king presented, 


Their journeys fast for England bends. 16 


As mayor and magistrates thought best. 


And with good leave were suffered 


With two and two together tied, 65 


Within our kingdom here to stay: 


Through Temple bar and Strand they go, 


Which multitude made victuals dear, 


To Westminster there to be tried, 


And all things else from day to day : 20 


With ropes about their necks also : 


For strangers then did so increase, 


But such a cry in every street, 


By reason of king Henry's queen, 


Till then was never heard or known, 70 


And privileg'd in many a place 


By mothers for their children sweet, 


To dwell, as was in London seen. 


Unhappily thus overthrown. 


Poor tradesmen had small dealing then, 25 


Whose bitter moans and sad laments 


And who but strangers bore the bell ? 


Possess'd the court with trembling fear , 


Which was a grief to Englishmen, 


Whereat the queen herself relents, 75 


To see them here in London dwell : 


Tho' it concern'd her country dear : 


Wherefore (God wot) upon May-eve, 


What if (quoth she) by Spanish blood, 


As prentices on Maying went, 30 


Have London's stately sti-eets been wet, 


Who made the magistrates believe, 


Yet will I seek this country's good, 


At all to have no other intent. 


And pardon for these young men get. 80 


But such a may-game it was known, 


Or else the world will speak of me, 


As like in London never were ; 


And say queen Catherine was unkind, 


For by the same full many a one, 35 


And judge me still the cause to be, 


With loss of life did pay full dear : 


These young men did these fortunes find : 


For thousands came with bilbo blade, 


And so disrob'd from rich attires, 85 


As with an army they could meet, 


With hairs hang'd down, she sadly hies, 


And such a bloody slaughter made 


And of her gracious lord requires 


Of foreign strangers in the street, 40 


A boon, which hardly he denies. 


That all the channels ran down with blood, 


The lives (quoth she) of all the blooms 


In every street where they remain'd ; 


Yet budding green, these youths I crave; 


Yea, every one in danger stood, 


O let them not have timeless tombs, 91 


That any of their part maintain'd ; 


For nature longer limits gave : 


The rich, the poor, the old, the young, 45 


In saying so, the pearled tears 


Beyond the seas tho' born and bred, 


Fell trickling from her princely eyes ; 


By prentices they suffer'd wrong, 


Whereat his gentle queen he chears, 95 


When armed thus they gather'd head. 


And says, Stand up, sweet lady rise. 



JOHNIE OF BREADISLEE. 



531 



The lives of thern I freely give, 

No means this kindness shall debar, 
Thou hast thy boon, and they may live, 

To serve me in my Bullen war. 100 

No sooner was this pardon given, 

But peals of joy rung through the hall 
As tho' it thunder'd down from heaven, 

The queen's renown amongst them all. 

For which (kind queen) with joyful heart, 

She gave to them both thanks and praise, 
And so from them did gently part, 107 

And liv'd beloved all her days : 
And when king Henry stood in need 

Of trusty soldiers at command, 110 

These prentices prov'd men indeed, 

And fear'd no force of warlike band. 

For at the siege of Tours in France, 

They shew'd themselves brave Englishmen; 



At Bullen too they did advance, 115 

St. George's lusty standard then ; 

Let Tourine, Tournay, and those towns 
That good king Henry nobly won, 

Tell London's prentices renowns, 119 

And of their deeds by them there done. 

For ill May-day, and ill May-games, 

Perform' d in young and tender days, 
Can be no hindrance to their fames, 

Or stains of manhood any ways : 
But now it is ordain'd by law, 125 

We see on May-day's eve at night, 
To keep unruly youths in awe, 

By London's watch in armour bright. 

Still to prevent the like misdeed, 

Which once thro' headstrong young men 
came ; 130 

And that's the cause that I do read, 

May-day doth get so ill a name. 



Pinic 0f §mMsIw. 



This is styled by Sir Walter Scott " an an- 
cient Nithsdale Ballad," the hero of which 
appears to have been an outlaw and deer- 
stealer ; probably one of the broken men re- 
siding upon the border. It is sometimes said 
that he possessed the old castle of Morton, in 
Dumfries-shire, now ruinous : — " Near to this 
castle there was a park, built by Sir Thomas 
Randolph, on the face of a very great and 
high hill ; so artificially, that, by the advan- 
tage of the hill, all wild beasts, such as deers, 
harts, and roes, and hares, did easily leap in, 
but could not get out again ; and if any other 
cattle, such as cows, sheep, or goats, did volun- 
tarily leap in, or were forced to do it, it is 
doubted if their owners were permitted to get 
them out again." But the date of Jobnie's 
history must be very remote, for the scene of 
his exploits has been reduced from the con- 
dition of a deer-forest to that of a cultivated 
domain from a time " beyond the memory of 
tradition."* There are several versions of the 



* Another tradition, according to Motherwell, assigns 
Braid, in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh, to have been 
the scene of the "woful hunting;" — " and," writes Mr. 
Cunningham, " Breadeslee, near Lochniaben, has been 



ballad ; the one we have selected is that 
printed by Sir Walter Scott— "from the dif- 
ferent copies." Mr. Motherwell reprints it, 
but gives also these fragments of a more an- 
cient composition, entitled " Johnie of Braid- 
isbank :" — 



Johnie rose up on a May morning, 
Called for water to wash his hands ; 

And he's awa to Braidisbanks, 
To ding the dun deer down. 

Johnie lookit east, and Johnie lookit west, 5 

And it's lang before the sun ; 
And there did he spy the dun deer lie, 

Beneath a bush of brume. 



Johnie shot, and the dun deer lap, 
And he's wounded her in the side ; 

Out then spake his sister's son, 

" And the neist will lay her pride." 



10 



pointed out as the more probable residence of the hero of 
the song ; and the scenery in the neighbourhood, and the 
traditions of the country, countenance the supposition." 



532 



JOIINIE OF BREADISLEE. 



They've eaten sae mickle o' the gude venison, 
And they've drunken sae muckle o' the 
blude ; 

That they've fallen into as sound a sleep, 
As gif that they were dead. 

It's doun, and it's doun, and it's doun, doun, 
And it's doun aniang the scroggs ; 

And there ye '11 espy twa bonny boys lie, 
Asleep amang their dogs. 

They've waukened Johnie out o' his sleep, 
And he's drawn to him his coat ; 

" My fingers five, save me alive, 
And a stout heart fail me not !" 

And Mr. Motherwell suggests the introduc- 
tion of the following beautiful stanza (pre- 
served by Mr. Finlay), after the nineteenth 
stanza in the printed copy. It is, as he justly 
remarks, " so descriptive of the languor of 
approaching death," that it is surprising Sir 
Walter Scott should have omitted to adopt 
it: — 

" There's no a bird in a' this forest 

Will do as mickle for me, 
As dip its wing in the wan water, 

And straik it on my e'e bree." 

Another copy has been printed by Robert 
Chambers — Scottish Ballads — partly taken 
from the ballads of Scott and Motherwell, and 
partly from the " recitation of a lady resident 
at Peebles, and from a MS. copy submitted 
to him by Mr. Kinloch." He publishes, for 
the first time, no fewer than ten additional 
6tanzas ; we select three, as indicating that 
the hero held a higher station than that of a 
mere deer-stealer :— 

His cheeks were like the roses red, 
His neck was like the snaw; 

He was the bonniest gentleman, 
My eyes they ever saw. 

His coat was o' the scarlet red, 

His vest was o' the same ; 
His stockings were o' the worset lace, 

And buckles tied to the same. 

The shirt that was upon his back, 

Was o' the holland fine ; 
The doublet that was over that, 

Was o' the Lincoln twine. 



These stanzas, however, may have been a 
modern interpolation. Mr. Cunningham, 
also, prints a version, into which he has evi- 
dently introduced some improvements of his 
own. We copy the concluding verse : — 



" lay my brown sword by my side, 

And my bent bow at my feet ; 
And stay the howling o' my gray dogs 

That sound may be my sleep." 
His dogs are dead, his bent bow broke, 

And his shafts that flew sae free ; 
And he lies dead near Durisdeer, 

Fair John of Breadislee. 



The daring exploits of border outlaws are 
the themes of many ancient ballads ; the reck- 
less character of their lives, their indomita- 
ble courage, and continual escapes from their 
enemies and the law, suggested favourable 
topics to the old minstrels ; several of them 
are singular for the adventures they describe, 
although few advance very high claims to 
poetic merit. One of the most striking is 
published by Ritson (" Ancient Songs"), and 
re-published, with "better readings," by 
Scott. It is entitled by Ritson " The Life 
and Death of Sir Hugh of the Grime ;" and 
by Scott, " Hughie the Graeme." The follow- 
ing are the introductory verses : — 

Gude Lord Scroope's to the hunting gane, 
He has ridden o'er moss and muir ; 

And he has grippit Hughie the Graeme, 
For stealing o' the bishop's mare. 

" Now, good Lord Scroope, this may not be ? 

Here hangs a broadsword by my side ; 
And if that thou canst conquer me, 

The matter it may soon be tryed." 

" I ne'er was afraid of a traitor thief; 

Although thy name be Hughie the Graeme, 
I'll make thee repent thee of thy deeds, 

If God but grant me but life and time." 



Johnnie rose up in a May morning, 
Called for water to wash his hands- 

" Gar loose to me the gude graie dogs 
That are bound wi' iron bands." 



JOHNIE OF BREADISLEE. 



533 



When Johnie's mother gat word o' that, 5 
Her hands for dule she wrang — 

" Johnie ! for my benison, 
To the greenwood dinna gang ! 

" Eneugh ye hae o' gude wheat bread, 
And eneugh o' the blude-red wine ; 10 

And, therefore, for nae venison, Johnie, 
I pray ye, stir frae hame." 

But Johnie's busk't up his gude bend bow, 

His arrows, ane by ane ; 
And he has gane to Durrisdeer, 15 

To hunt the dun deer down. 

As he came down by Merriemas, 

And in by the benty line, 
There has he espied a deer lying 

Aneath a bush of ling. 20 

Johnie he shot, and the dun deer lap, 
And he wounded her on the side ; 

But, atween the water and the brae, 
His hounds they laid her pride. 

And Johnie has bryttled the deer sae weel, 
That he's had out her liver and lungs ; 26 

And wi' these he has feasted his bluidy 
hounds, 
As if they had been earl's sons. 

They eat sae much o' the venison, 

And drank sae much o' the blude, 30 

That Johnie and a' his bluidy hounds, 
Fell asleep as they had been dead. 

And by there came a silly auld carle, 

An ill death mote he die ! 
For he's awa' to Hislinton, 35 

Where the seven foresters did lie. 

" What news, what news, ye grayheaded 
carle, 
What news bring ye to me ?" 
"I bring nae news," said the grayheaded 
carle, 
" Save what these eyes did see. 40 

" As I came down by Merriemas, 

And down among the scroggs, 
The bonniest childe that ever I saw 

Lay sleeping among his dogs. 



The shirt that was upon his back 
Was o' the holland fine ; 

The doublet which was over that 
Was o' the lincome twine. 



45 



The buttons that were on his sleeve 
Were o' the goud sae gude : 50 

The gude graie hounds he lay amang, 
Their mouths were dyed wi' blude. 

Then out and spak the first forester, 

The heid man ower them a' — 
" If this be Johnie o' Breadislee, 55 

Nae nearer will we draw." 

But up and spak the sixth forester 

(His sister's son was he), 
" If this be Johnie o' Breadislee, 

We soon shall gar him die 1" 60 

The first flight of arrows the foresters shot, 
They wounded him on the knee : 

And out and spak the seventh forester, 
" The next will gar him die." 

Johnie's set his back against an aik, 65 

His fute against a stane ; 
And he has slain the seven foresters, 

He has slain them a' but ane. 

He has broke three ribs in that ane's side, 
But and his collar bane ; 70 

He's laid him twa-fald over his steed, 
Bade him carry the tidings hame. 

" O is there nae a bonny bird, 

Can sing as I can say ? — 
Could flee away to my mother's bower, 75 

And tell to fetch Johnie away ?" 

The starling flew to his mother's window 
stane, 

It whistled and it sang ; 
And aye the ower word o' the tune 

Was—" Johnie tarries lang !" 80 

They made a rod o' the hazel bush, 

Another o' the slae-thorn tree, 
And mony, mony were the men 

At fetching o'er Johnie. 

Then out and spak his auld mother, 85 

And fast her tears did fa' — 
" Ye wad nae be warned, my son Johnie, 

Frae the hunting to bide awa'. 

" Aft hae I brought to Breadislee, 

The less gear and the mair ; 90 

But I ne'er brought to Breadislee, 
What grieved my heart sae sair. 



534 



THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW. 



But wae betyde that silly auld carle, 
An ill death shall he die ! 

For the highest tree in Merriemas, 
Shall be his morning's fee." 



95 



Now Johnie's gude bend bow is broke, 
And his gude graie dogs are slain ; 

And his body lies dead in Durrisdeer, 
And his hunting it is done. 100 



% gjfltoi* §m at ffrato. 



This ballad was first published in the 
"Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border;" but 
other versions of it were, previously, in cir- 
culation, and it is stated by Sir Walter Scott 
to have been " a very great favourite among 
the inhabitants of Ettrick Forest," where it 
is universally believed to be founded on fact. 
Sir Walter, indeed, " found it easy to collect 
a variety of copies ;" and from them he col- 
lated the present edition — avowedly for the 
purpose of " suiting the tastes of these more 
light and giddy-paced times." A copy is 
contained in Motherwell's " Minstrelsy, An- 
cient and Modern ;" another, in Buchan's 
" Ballads and Songs of the North of Scot- 
land :" it, no doubt, originated the popular 
composition beginning — 

Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny bride, 

by Hamilton, of Bangour, first published in 
Ramsey's " Tea Table Miscellany ;" and sug- 
gested the ballad " The Braes of Yarrow," by 
the Rev. John Logan. In Herd's collection, 
in Ritson's " Scottish Songs," and in the 
" Tea Table Miscellany," are to be found 
fragments of another ballad, entitled "Wil- 
lie's drowned in Yarrow," of which this is 
the concluding stanza : — 

She sought him east, she sought him west, 
She sought him braid and narrow ; 

Syne in the cleaving of a craig, 

She found him drowned in Yarrow. 

Indeed, " Yarrow stream" has been a fertile 
source of poetry, and seems to have inspired 
the poets ; the very sound is seductive : and, 
as Mr. Buchan remarks, " all who have at- 
tempted to sing its praise, or celebrate the 
actions of those who have been its visiters, 



have almost universally succeeded in their 
attempts." The ballad he publishes is enti- 
tled " The Braes of Yarrow ;" it bears a close 
resemblance, in its more prominent features, 
to that collated by Sir Walter Scott,'but is 
far more rugged and less poetic ; take for 
example the opening verse : — 

Ten lords sat drinking at the wine, 

Intill a morning early ; 
There fell a combat them amang, 

It must be fought — nae parly. 

The version preserved by Mr. Motherwell 
was taken down " from the recitation of an 
old woman in Kilbarcan," and is chiefly valu- 
able as showing the state in which the song 
is preserved in the west of Scotland. It is 
entitled " The Dowie Downs of Yarrow." 
The main incidents are similar to those con- 
tained in the ballad of Scott ; but the style 
is, as may be expected, much inferior. The 
two introductory verses may suffice as a sam- 
ple of the whole : — 

There were three lords birling at the wine, 
On the Dowie Downs o' Yarrow ; 

They made a compact them between, 
They would go fecht to-morrow. 

" Thou took our sister to be thy wife, 
And thou ne'er thocht her thy marrow ; 

Thou stealed her frae her daddie's back, 
When she was the rose o' Yarrow." 

Another version was published by Robert 
Chambers, in his " Scottish Ballads," — 
" chiefly taken from a fragment in Herd's 
collection (which we have introduced in a 
note), a few stanzas and lines from Buchan's 
copy, and part of a ballad printed by Jamie- 



THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW. 



535 



son, entitled 'Lizie Lindsay,'" which Jamie- 
son gives in an imperfect, and Buchan in an 
entire, shape. Mr. Chambers, however, has 
been " under the necessity of altering several 
lines and verses, and re-writing others." Mr. 
Allan Cunningham, also, prints yet another 
version, principally copied from that of Sir 
Walter Scott, but omitting the three first 
verses, and reforming the remainder. Mr. 
Cunningham states, that " he had seen a frag- 
ment of the same song in the handwriting of 
Burns," — of which he has given three verses ; 
the first is as follows : — 

" Where shall I gang, my ain true love, 

Where shall I gang to hide me ? 
For weel I ken, i' yere father's bower, 

It wad be death to find me." 
" go you to yon tavern house, 

And there count o'er your lawin ; 
And if I be a woman true, 

I'll meet you in the dawin." 

That the several versions of the story, 
scattered among the people, and preserved by 
them in some form or other, had one common 
origin, there can be little doubt. "Tradition," 
according to Sir Walter Scott, " places the 
event recorded in the song very early, and it 
is probable the ballad was composed soon af- 
terwards, although the language has been 
modernized in the course of its transmission 
to us, through the inaccurate channel of oral 
tradition." " The hero of the ballad," he 
adds, " was a knight of great bravery, called 
Scott;" and he believes it refers to a duel 
fought at Deucharswyre, of which Annan's 
Treat is a part, betwixt John Scott, of Tushie- 
law, and his brother-in-law, Walter Scott, 
third son of Robert of Thirlstane, in which 
the latter was slain. Annan's Treat is a low 
muir, on the banks of the Yarrow, lying to 
the west of Yarrow kirk. Two tall unhewn 
masses of stone are erected about eighty 
yards distant from each other, and the least 
child, that can herd a cow, will tell the pas- 
senger, that there lie "the two lords who 
were slain in single combat." Sir Walter 
also informs us that, according to tradition, 
the murderer was the brother of either the 
wife or the betrothed bride of the murdered ; 
and that the alleged cause of quarrel was. 
the lady's father having proposed to endow 
her with half of his property upon her mar- 
68 
4 



riage with a warrior of such renown. The 
name of the murderer is said to have been 
Annan, hence the place of combat is still 
called Annan's Treat. 

Late at e'en, drinking the wine 

And ere they paid the lawing, 
They set a combat them between, 

To fight it in the dawing. 

" stay at hame, my noble lord ! 5 

stay at hame, my marrow ! 
My cruel brother will you betray 

On the dowie houms of Yarrow."— 



" fare ye weel, my ladye gaye ! 

fare ye weel, my Sarah ! 
For I maun gae, though I ne'er return 

Frae the dowie banks o' Yarrow." 



10 



She kissed his cheek, she kaimed his hair, 

As oft she had done before, ; 
She belted him with his noble brand, 15 

And he's away to Yarrow. 

As he gaed up the Tennies bank, 

I wot he gaed wi' sorrow, 
Till down in a den, he spied nine armed men, 

On the dowie houms of Yarrow. 20 

" ! come ye here to part your land, 

The bonny forest thorough ? 
Or come ye here to wield your brand, 

On the dowie houms of Yarrow 1" — 

" I come not here to part my land, 25 

And neither to beg nor borrow ; 

I come to wield my noble brand, 
On the bonnie banks of Yarrow. 

" If I see all, ye're nine to ane 

And that's an unequal marrow ; 30 

Yet will I fight while lasts my brand, 

On the bonnie banks of Yarrow." 

Four has he hurt, and five has slain, 

On the bonnie braes of Yarrow ; 34 

Till that stubborn knight came him behind, 
And ran his body thorough. 

"Gae hame, gae hame, good brother John, 

And tell your sister Sarah 
To come and lift her leafu' lord ; 

He's sleeping sound on Yarrow." — 40 



536 



BELTED WILL. 



" Yest'reen I dreamed a dolefu' dream;* 

I fear there -will be sorrow ! 
I dreamed I pu'd the heather green,' 

Wi' my true love, on Yarrow. 

•' gentle wind, that bloweth south, 45 

From where my love repaireth, 
Convey a kiss from his dear mouth, 

And tell me how he fareth ! 

"But in the glen strive armed men ; 

They've wrought me dole and sorrow ; 50 
They've slain — the comeliest knight they've 
slain, 

He bleeding lies on Yarrow." 

As she sped down yon high high hill, 
She gaed wi' dole and sorrow ; 



And in the den spied ten slain men, 
On the dowie banks of Yarrow. 



55 



She kissed his cheek, she kaimed his hair 
She searched his wounds all thorough, 

She kissed them till her lips grew red, 
On the dowie houms of Yarrow. 60 

" Now baud your tongue, my daughter dear ! 

For a' this breeds but sorrow ; 
I'll wed ye to a better lord 

Than him ye lost on Yarrow." 

" haud your tongue, my father dear ; 65 

Ye mind me but of sorrow ; 
A fairer rose did never bloom 

Than now lies cropped on Yarrow." 



gut** mm 



This Ballad is founded on a legend apper- 
taining to Thirlwall, whose proprietors in 
remote times were called Barons, and held 
under the Kings of Scotland as Lords of Tin- 
dale. The township and manor derives its 
name from the Roman thralling or barrier 
wall running through it. To " thirll," in the 
old Northumbrian dialect, means to bind or 
enthral. 

Thirlwall Castle stands on a rocky preci- 
pice above the river Tiffalt ; there is no men- 
tion of it before 1369, in which year John de 
Thirlwall is called lord of it, and the manor 
of Thirlwall. 

* The following is the fragment given by Mr. Herd, " to 
the tune of Leaderhaughs and Yarrow :" — 

" I dream'd a dreary dream last night ; 

God keep us a' frae sorrow ; 
I dream'd I pu'd the birk sae green, 

Wi' my true luve on Yarrow." 

" I'll read your dream, my sister dear, 

I'll tell you a' your sorrow; 
You pu'd the birk wi' your true luve ; 

He's kill'd, he's kill'd, on Yarrow." 

" gentle wind, that bloweth south, 

To where my luve repaireth, 
Convey a kiss from his dear mouth, 

And tell me how he fareth. 

" But o'er yon glen run armed men, 

Have wrought me dule and sorrow 
They've slain, they've slain, ta comeliest swain, 

He bleeding lies on Yarrow " 



The legend on which part of the Ballad is 
founded is as follows. One of the Barons of 
Thirlwall returned from the foreign wars, 
laden with abundance of treasure, amongst 
which was a table of solid gold; his wealth 
was much spoken of, and often excited the 
cupidity of the numerous band of freebooters 
with which the Border abounded ; but the 
well known bravery of the Baron and the 
strength of his followers prevented them from 
making an open attack. The gold table, it 
was affirmed, was guarded day and night by 
a hideous dwarf; some said it was the foul 
fiend himself. In a predatory excursion, the 
Baron was pursued home by the incensed 
"Warden of the March, who stormed his castle, 
and slew the Baron and most part of his 
retainers. The castle was ransacked for the 
treasure ; but the gold table, dwarf, and money 
bags had disappeared. Dungeons and vaults 
were searched, but nothing could be found ; 
and after setting fire to the castle, the victors 
retired. The dwarf (according to tradition) 
during the heat of the engagement, removed 
the treasure, and throwing it into a deep well 
jumped in after it, when by his infernal art 
he closed the well over himself and his charge : 
and it is said that he still remains under the 
influence of a spell, only to be broken by the 
virtuous son of a widow. About fifty years 



BELTED WILL. 



537 



ago, a man who was ploughing in an adjoin- 
ing field imagined that a certain part of the 
ground sounded hollow when the plough 
passed over it. This having excited his 
curiosity, he struck the earth violently, when 
he distinctly heard a stone drop, and strike 
the side wall repeatedly, and end in a hollow 
murmur at the bottom of some deep well or 
pit. Impressed with the belief that this was 
the dwarf's well, and that he was on the point 
of possessing unbounded wealth, he resolved, 
like Goldsmith's Miller, to proceed cautiously, 
and returning at the dead of night, to explore 
the subterraneous cavity. But, alas, for the 
instability of earthly hopes ; on his return he 
was unable to discover the place : day after 
day he recrossed and searched the field, and 
night after night he struck the ground in 
vain ; the hollow sound was heard no more, 
and the dwarf's well remains undiscovered to 
this very day. 

Naworth Castle, the abode of that famous 
warrior Belted Will, stood near Brampton in 
Cumberland. It was burnt down in 1844. 
Lord Morpeth is erecting a stately edifice on 
its ashes. For a description of this Border 
soldier and his dwelling, see Scott's notes to 
his Lay of the Last Minstrel. In the Memoirs 
of Sir Robert Carey, then deputy for his father, 
Lord Hunsden, Warden of the Eastern 
Marches (and afterwards Earl of Monmouth), 
a singular picture will be found of the rude 
and lawless state of society, at the period 
when the scene of the Ballad is laid. 

They went along a close passage, 
Built in the Castle wall. 

Discoveries made during the removal of the 
ruins, corroborate this and other allusions 
made in the Ballad. 

The Baron of Thirlwall came from the wars, 

Laden with treasure bold ; 
Among the which a fayre tabel, 

All of the beaten gold. 

And men will speak of the Baron's wealth, 
Whatever he may say, 6 

And how a grisly dwarf does guard 
His treasure night and day. 



Mony a Border freebooter 
Eyed Thirlwall's gude castell, 

Thinking to win the bags of gold, 
And eke the fayre tabel. 



10 



But the Baron hath retainers bold, 

And swatchers mony ane, 
And the castle walls are high to win, 15 

Howe'er they fidge and fain. 

The boldest ane o' a' his men 

Was Jockey of the Sheugh ; 
The Baron loved him like a brither, 

And that was fair enoo. 20 

Jock could warsle, run or lap 

Wi' ever a living man ; 
Never a wight in Cumbernauld 

Could beat him at the span. 

But Thirlwall's Baron heeded not 25 

The word o' Belted Will, 
Who dwells within the dark Naworth, 

The Border March to still. 

He can rule all the Border roun', 

Wi' a peeled willey wan ; 30 

But Thirlwall's Baron geeks at him, 

And a' the laws o' the Ian'. 

So fast come tidings of ravin wrong 

To Belted Willy's ear ; 
Quo 7 he, "By my belt I'll trap this man, 35 

If I catch him in effeir. 

" But he is like a wily tod, 

That taketh to his hole, 
An I can catch him on the turn, 

Ise smoke him frae his bole. 40 

" He reaves and harries ilka ane, 

Tho' he has goups o' gold ; 
Ise lay a trap for him bedeen, 

By which he shall be sold." 

Thirlwall's Baron heard his speech, 45 

Wi' scorn amaist he burst ; 
" His anger it is like a haggis, 

That's hettest at the first." 

Sore smiled the wily Belted Will, 

But in so dark a way ; 50 

Better that smile were wanting there, 

Than on his lip to lay. 

Jock o' the Sheugh tirled at the string 
Of the Baron of Thirlwall's yett ; 

"Up, up, and rise, my noble lord, 55 

Some plunder for to get. 



538 BELTED WILL. 




«' There are a swatch o' Englishers 


"Come off your naigs ye sorning crew, 


Coming frae Carlisle toun, 


Of southron pock-puddings, 


30 


Well laden wi' the yellow goud, 


Or ye sail hae the gude cauld steel, 




For Annan are they boun." 60 


So gie us a' your things." 




" Gae tak a dozen o' my men, 


" Wese gie ye that," said ane o' them, 




And brattle o'er the lea, 


" Yese no forget I wisse, 




Lay wait and watch untill they pass 


This mony a day gude Jock o' the Sheugh, 


The Bowness witches tree. 


And that my Billie's this." 


36 


" A dozen o' ye well may lick 65 


They threw the cloaks from off their hides, 


Three score o' English tykes, 


And back and breastplate shone ; 




Tak a' they have, and leave them sae 


They grippit their swords, the first blow struck 


To tell o' this wha likes." 


Was echoed with a groan. 


40 


Then Jock banged o'er the broomy knowe, 


Gude faith, but Jock had fund his match, 




And reached the witches tree, 70 


For the Southrons hacked about ; 




And wi' his dozen freebooters, 


The Thirlwall boys were fain to fight, 




Lay doun on thir bellie. 


But soon put to the route. 




Fvtte Second. 


Of twelve o' Jock's gude freebooters 


45 


Jock heard a sound, and looked up, 


But three fled owre the lea, 




" Ye fule," says one, " lig doun, 


The other nine lay still eneuch 




It's but a patrick on the wing, 


Beside the witches' tree. 




Or a reaving tod in the broome." 


Poor Jock is doun upon his back, 




Quo' Jack, "Gude Willie ye say wrang, 5 


Wi' a sair clour on the head ; 
His billies all are stiffening, 


50 


And so I'll prove to you ; 


And three o' them are fled. 




Its no ane tod, its a baker's dozen, 






That's low in the broome the noo." 


Out spoke the twenty travellers, 




There cam on twenty Englishers, 


" Why Jock, how's this of a', 
Ye bid us to a meal gude faith, 


55 


Wi' cloaks and saddle bags; 10 




There cam on twenty travellers, 


And then ye rin awa ?" 




Mounted on goodly naigs. 


Quo' Jack, as they bund fast his arms, 
And raised him frae the lea, 




" A shame upon yon sorning crew," 

Quo' Jock, " the deil me flay, 
Ise have half dozen o' yon yauds 15 


" Gif I had kenned ye were Belted Will's men, 


The devil might stopped ye for me." 


60 


Before that home I gae. 


Fytte Third. 




"That they suld ride so cantily, 


The Baron o' Thirlwall looked abroad, 




The deil pike out thar e'en, 


From out his strong castell, 




And the muckle fiend their baggies gnaw, 


And he saw three men come posting on, 




For well stuffed hae they been." 20 


Out owre the fern and fell. 




Cam on those twenty travellers, 


" I wad," said he, " they run a race, 


5 


With lang cloaks flowing doun, 


A thousand merks I lay 




Cam on these twenty travellers, 


Upon the wight in the red jerkin, 




All thro' the yellow broome. 


He wins the race this day." 




Then started up Jock and his men 25 


The three men burst in on his room, 




Wi' sic an awfu yell, 


" My lord," then each one said, 


10 


Ye might have heard it at the top 


"Jock o' the Sheugh is wounded sair, 




Of Skiddaw or Criffell. 

- 


And nine gude fallows dead." 





BELTED WILL. 



539 



The dark spot flew to the Baron's cheek, 

" Ye cowards one and a' 
Gae join your bluidy billie's then, 15 

Whatever may befa'." 

He struck each man the neck intill, 

And they fell on the floor ; 
" To fly without a single blow, 

Shows valour to be poor. 20 

" Gif Belted Will suld harm a hair 
0' Jock o' the Sheugh his head, 

I'll put the Border in siccan a bleeze, 
Shall mak him flee with dread. 

"Gif Jock o' the Sheugh hangs for this ploy, 
The hail o' the March sail weep, 26 

Nae man sail wauken in the morn, 
That gangs alive to sleep. 



" Mony a mither sail weep her lane, 
With outen woe and alack ; 

Many a red cock craw betimes, 
In a farmer's garth or stack." 



30 



They brought these words to Belted Will, 

As at racket ball he played ; 
But the only answer he loot fall, 35 

" Wese sune see that," he said. 



He went up to his own chamber 
Wi' ane stout serving man ; 

He stript him o' his earlie's claethes, 
And naked there did stan. 



40 



He pat aff silk and sendal too, 
And plume, and belt, and a', 

And drew on druggett and hodden grey ; 
But he didna look sae braw. 

He went in that room a belted yerl, 
And a serving man cam out ; 

He took a lamp frae the window neuk, 
And looked sharp aboot. 

He lifted up the painted arras, 

And a little door he spied ; 
The lad and him went in the wall, 

Wi' quick and hasty stride. 



45 



50 



They went along a close passage, 

Built in the Castle wall ; 
Sometimes up heights, then over baulks, 55 

Syne forced to stoop and crawl 



Down steep steps they lower went, 
Till they reached the founding rock ; 

At length the Earlie came to a door, 

And he shot back the lock. 60 

They went into a dungeon high, 
And Jock o' the Sheugh lay there ; 

He raisit himself upon his crook, 
To look upon the pair. 

" Good e'en to ye," said Belted Will, 65 

" I am a serving man 
Unto the Warden o' the March, 

For as simple as I stan. 

" My name is Thomas Featherstone, 
As I now tell to thee, 70 

Come of as good a kith and kin 
As any the north countrie." 

" I downa question ye, my man," 

Quo' Jock wi' gruesome mood ; 
" But ye must mak me wun thro' walls, 75 

Or else do me nae good." 

" Haith lad, here's wine and gude pasty, 

Sae never fash your thoomb ; 
Ye've been in siccan a state before, 

For a' ye look sae gloom." 80 

" And that is true," quo' Thirlwall's Jock, 

" Sae gies the gude red wine ;" 
They sat them doun upon the floor, 

As in a chamber fine. 

" Then here's to thee !" quo Belted Will, 85 

The very words he spak ; 
" The same to you," roared Jock o' the Sheugh, 

And slapped him on the back. 

Jock told him o' his wickedness, 

From now since he could stand ; 90 

The frolics of his wantonness, 

In England and Scotland. 

Nine Englishmen he had murderet, 

Beside some orra thing: 
" No much to crack about," quo Jock, 95 

" Nor worth the mentioning." 

How he had robbed and plundered a', 

On Sabbath and wor-day ; 
" Are ye no sorry for these things?" 

Then Belted Will did say. 100 



540 BELTED WILL. 


" Gude faith, my lad, I'm no that saft, 


But scarcely had the midnight fell, 




For were I free the morn, 


When spite o' a' his care, 




I wad be off upon the auld score, 


Belted Will his castell stormed, 




As sure as ye were born." 


For a' he fought so sair. 




Up rose his comrade frae the floor 105 


A tar barrel and reeking peat, 


25 


" At morning ye sail die ; 


They laid unto his nest, 




It were a shame to let ye scape, 


Threw open gates and wide windows, 




Living so wickedly. 


And the night wind did the rest. 




" Had'st thou but said, Good lord, me save, 


The Baron fled frae room to room, 




I am a sinful man, 110 


By the flames o' his own ha', 


30 


There were some hopes o' thy convert, 


" He's gien me light to go to bed, 




To lengthen out life's span. 


Whatever may befa'. " 
He rushed into his inner room, 




" Thou hast rejoiced in all thou'st done, 


Where his golden table lay ; 




In guiltynes3 content ; 


The devil in likeness o' a dwarf 


35 


And thou shalt die:" so saying this, 115 


Kept watch there night and day. 




He from the dungeon went. 






Belted Will pursued him hard, 




Puir Jock leuked with a serious face, 


Amid the flame and stour, 




Frae's hand there dropped the gill ; 


For he cut the skirt frae the Baron's cloak, 


" Now save my soul, what have I said ? 


As he whisked thro' the door. 


40 


That sure was Belted Will !" 120 


" Save me now thou gruesome elf, 
And my saul and body's thine ;" 




Fytte Fourth. 


The dwarf he jabbered hideously, 
But never made a sign. 




Bv Brampton's town there stands an oak, 






Upon a hill so high; 


Belted Will called for a ram, 


45 


And Jock was broughten there betimes, 


To bash the doorway doun, 




Upon the tree to die. 


The red flames thro' the keyhole flashed, 
And filled wi' reek the room. 




They strapped him to the highest branch, 






Of all that goodly tree, 6 


" My soul and bodie," the Baron said, 




And there the righteous chaplain prayed 


Abjuring Chryst his sign ; 


50 


For Jock's soul solemnlie. 


The devil he grippit him in his arms, 
" Now, Baron, art thou mine." 




Thirlwall's Baron saw the sight, 






And swore revenge to have ; 10 


The door gaed splint'ring frae the posts, 




For better part o' a summer's day 


In rushed the enemie ; 




He nothing did but rave. 


But Baron, dwarf, and goud table, 
I wat they could na see. 


55 


He sent a messenger sae bold 






To Will, wha cried in scorn, 


And legends say the ugsome dwarf 




" Better he looks intill his nest, 15 


Threw all into a well, 




I'se burn it ere the morn." 


And by the glamour o' his art, 






Cast over all a spell: 


60 


The Baron fled to his castell, 


Which never may be rendered vayn 




And guarded it sae grim ; 


But by a widow's son ; 




" The fiend tak Belted Will," he cried, 


And he shall find the gold table, 




" 'Tis word and blow wi' him." 20 


When years away have run. 





BELTED WILL. 



541 



Belted Will looked up at the tower, 65 

Where flashed the flames so red, 

"The Baron's soul maun be in hell," 
The Border Warden said. 

" Now by my word, I rather had 

Met him upon the field;" 70 

Then Thirlwall's freebooters cried out, 

"Ho! Belted Will, we yield." 

Of horse and foot five hundred strong 

Were mustered on that morn, 
To keep the castle o' gude Thirlwall, 75 

Wi' sword, and spear, and horn. 



They drove them untill Cumbernauld, 

All that were prisoners taen ; 
But many by the Warden's men 

In the blazing towers were slain. 80 

And better they were, who on that night 

Had fallen in the strife, 
Than thus to live of hope bereft, 

A captive's weary life. 

To count the sad return o' day, 85 

For many a lonely hour, 
All thro' the night thro' the cold daylight, 

In Naworth's dungeon tower. 



§lB»0Erf. 



The Scottish words are denoted by s., French by f., Latin by 1., Anglo-Saxon by a. s., Icelandic by isl., Ac. 
For the etymology of the words in this volume, the reader is referred to Junii Etymologicum Anglicanum, Edidit Ed. 

Lye. Oxon. 1743, folio. 



A' Au, s. all. 
Abacke, back. 
Abone, aboon, s. above. 
Aboven ous, above us. 
Abotcght, about. 
Abraide, abroad. 
Abye, suffer, to pay for. 
Acton, a kind of armour made of 
taffeta, or leather quilted, &c, 
worn under the habergeon, to 
save the body from bruises, f., 
Hocqueton. 
A deid of nicht, s. in dead of 

night. 
Adrad, afraid. 
Advoutry, Advouterous, adultery, 

adulterous. 
Aff, s. off. 
Afore, before. 
Aft, s. oft. 
Agayne, against. 
Agoe, gone. 
Ahte, ought. 
Aik, s. oak. 
Ain, Aicin, s. own. 
Aith, s. oath. 
Alate, of late. 
Al, albeit, although. 
Alemaigne, f. Germany. 

Al gife, although. 

Algatys, by all means. 

Alyes, probably corrupted for al- 
gates, always. 

Amonge, at the same time. 

An, and. 

Ancient, a flag, banner. 

Ancyent, standard. 

And, if. 

Ane, s. one, an, a. 

Angel, a gold coin worth 10s. 

Ann, if. 

Ant, and. 

Apayde, satisfied, contented. 

Apliht, Al aplyht, quite complete 
69 



Aquoy, coy, shy. 

Are, Goddys are, God's heir or 
son, i. e., Jesus Christ, who is 
also God himself. 

Array, dress, clothing. 

Arrayed, freighted, furnished. 

Araa, Arros, arrows. 

Arcir, archer. 

Argabuahe, harquebusse, an old 
fashioned kind of musket. 

Ase, as. 

Assinde, assigned. 

Aasoyl'd, Asaoyled, absolved. 

Astate, estate, also a great per- 
son. 

Astonied, astonished, stunned. 

Astound, Astonyed, stunned, asto- 
nished, confounded. 

Ath, Athe, o' th', of the. 

Attowre, s. oat, over, over and 
abov. 

A Twyde; of Tweed. 

Auowe, a vow, an oath. 

Auld, s. old. 

Aureat, golden. 

Austertie, stern, austere. 

Avowe, vow. 

Avoyd, void, vacate. 

Awa', s. away. 

Axed, asked. 

Ayance, against. 

Ayenst, against. 

Aye, ever, also, ah, alas. 

Azein, Agein, against. 

Azont, s. beyond. 

Azont the ingle, s. beyond the fire. 
The fire was in the middle of 
the room. 

In the west of Scotland, at this pre- 
sent time, in many cottages they pile 
their peats and turfs upon stones in 
the middle of the room. There is a 
hole above the fire in the ridge of the 
house to let the smoke out at. In 
some places are cottage-houses, from 
the front of which a very wide chim- 
ney projects like a bow window ; the 
fire is in a grate like a maltrkilu 



grate, round which the people sit: 
sometimes they draw this grate into 
the middle of the room. — Mr. Lambe. 



B. 



Ba', s. ball. 

Bacheleere, knight. 

Baile, bale, evil, hurt, mischief, 
misery. 

Bairne, s. child. 

Bairn, s. child. 

Bairded, s. bearded. 

Baith, s. Bathe, both. 

Bale, evil, mischief, misery. 

Balow, s. a nursery term, hush, 
lullaby, &c. 

Balysbete, Better our bales, reme- 
dy our evils. 

Bane, bone. 

Ban, curse, Banning, cursing. 

Banderolles, streamers, little flags. 

Band, bond, covenant. 

Bar, bare. 

Bargan, business, commission. 

Bar-hed, bare-head, or perhaps 
bared. 

Bame, Berne, man, person. 

Base court, the lower court of a 
castle. 

Basnete, Basnite, Basnyte, Baso- 
net, Bassonnette, helmet. 

Battes, heavy sticks, clubs. 

Baud, s. bold. 

Bauzen, s. Skinne, perhaps sheep's 
leather dressed and coloured 
red, f. Barane, sheep's loasher. 
In Scotland, sheepskin mittens, 
with the wool on the inside, are 
called bauson mittens. Bauson 
also signifies a badger, in old 
English, it may therefore sig- 
nify perhaps badger's skin. 

Bayard, a noted blind horse in 
the old romances. The horse 
on which the four sons of Ay- 



(543) 



544 



GLOSSARY. 



nion rode is called Bayard 
Montalbon, by Skelton, in his 
"Phillip Sparrow." 
Bearing arrow, an arrow that car- 
ries well. Or perhaps bearing 
or birring, i. e., whirling or 
whirring arrow, from isl. Bir. 
ventus, or a. s. 

Bene, fremitus. 

Beam, Bairn, s. a child, also hu- 
man creature. 

Be, s. by, Be that, by that time. 

Bed, bade. 

Bede, offer, engage. 

Bedeene, immediately. 

//• dight, bedecked. 

Bedune, wrought, made up. 

Bedyls, beadles. 

Bedys, beads. 

lU/ail, befallen. 

Befoir, s. before. 

Befum, before. 

Begylde, beguiled, deceived. 

Beheard, heard. 

Behests, commands, injunctions. 

Behove, behoof. 

Belive, immediately, presently. 

Belyfe, p. Belive, immediately, by 
and by, shortly. 

Bende-bow, a bent bow, qu. 

Bene, Bean, an expression of con- 
tempt. 

Ben, bo, are. 

Ben, Bene, been. 

Ben, s. within the inner-room. 

" But o' house," means the outer 
part of the house, outer rooijft, viz. that 
part of the house into which you first 
enter, suppose from the street. " Ben 
o' house," is the inner room, or more 
retired part of the house. Thedaughter 
did not lie out of doors. The cottagers 
often desire their landlords to build 
them a But and a Ben. (Vid. Gloss.)— 
Mr. Lambe. 

Ben, s. within doors. 

Of the Scottish words Ben and But, 
Ben is from the Dutch Binnen, Lat. 
intra, intus, which is compounded of 
the preposition Bv or Be (the same as 
Br in English), and of In. 

Benison, blessing. 

Bent, s. long grass, also wild 
fields, where bents, &c, grow. 

Bent, bents, (where bents, long 
coarse grass, Ac, grow), the 
field, fields. 

Benyngne, Benigne, benign, kind. 

Beoth, bo, are. 

Bernes, barns. 

Beere, s. bier. 

Bereth, (Introd.) beareth. 

Ber the prys, bare the prize. 

Iierys, beareth. 

Beseeme, become. 

Besett, laid out, bestowed. 

Beshreio me, a lesser form of im- 
precation. 



Brshradde, cut into shreds. 

Besmirche, to soil, discolour. 

Besprent, besprinkled. 

Besladde, situated, placed. 

Beste, beest, art. 

Bested, abode. 

Bestis, beests. 

Bestrawghted, distracted. 

Beth, be, are. 

Be that, by that time. 

Bcete, did beat. 

Bet, better, bett, did beat. Ware 
hytt bett, lay it out to more ad- 
vantage. 

Bewraies, discovers, betrays. 

Bickarte, bickered, skirmished. 

(It is also used sometimes in the 
sense of, " swiftly coursed," 
which seems to be the sense, p. 
53, col. 1. — Mr. Lambe). 

Mr. Lamhe also interprets " Bicker- 
ing," by rattling, e. g. 

And on that slee Ulysses head, 
Sad curses down does bicker. 

Translat. of Ovid. 

Bill, &c, I have delivered a pro- 

. mise In writing, confirmed by 
an oath. 

Bi mi leauii, by my loyalty, ho- 
nesty. 

Birk, s. birch tree. 

Blan, Blanne, did blin, i. e. lin- 
ger, stop. 

Blane, Blanne, did blin, i. e. lin- 
ger, stop. 

Blare, to emblazon, display. 

Blaw, s. blow. 

Blee, colour, complexion. 

Bleid, s. Blede, bleed. 

Blent, blended. 

Blent, ceased. 

Blinne, cease, give over. 

Blinkan, Blinkand, s. twinkling. 

Blinking, squinting. 

Blink, s. a glimpse of light, the 
sudden light of a candle seen 
in the night at a distance. 

Blinks, s. twinkles, sparkles. 

Blist, blessed. 

Blioe, Belive, s. immediately. 

Bloomed, beset with bloom. 

Bhide, Bluid red, blood, s. blood 
red. 

Bluid, Bluidy, s. blood, bloody. 

Blynne, stop, cease, give over. 

Blyth, Blithe, s. sprightlj', joyous. 

Blyth, s. joy, sprightliness. 

Blythc, Blyue, blithe, with spirit. 

Blyve, Belive, s. instantly. 

Boare, bare. 

Bode, abode, stayed. 

Boist, Boisteris, s. boast, boasters. 

Bookesman, clerk, secretary. 

Bollys, bowls. 

Boltes, shafts, arrows. 



Bomen, bowman. 

Boon, favour, request, petition. 

Boone, a favour, request, petition. 

Bonny, Bonnie, s. comely. 

Bore, born. 

Borrowed, warranted, pledged, was 

exchanged for. 
Borrowe, Borovoe, pledge, surety. 
Borowe, to redeem by a pledge. 
Bote, boot, advantage. 
Boot, Boote, advantage, help, as- 
sistance. 
Boote, gain, advantage. 
Bot, s. but, sometimes it seems 
used for both, or, besides, more- 
over. 
Bot and, (it should probably be 

both and), and also 
Bot, s. without, Bot dreid, with- 
out dread, certainly. 
Bougill, s. bugle-horn, hunting 

horn. 
Bougills, s. bugle horns. 
Bounde, Bowynd, Bowncd, pre- 
pared, got ready, the word is 
also used in the north in the 
sense of went or was going. 
Bowne, to dine, going to dine. 
Bowne, is a common word in the 
North for going, e. g. Where 
are you bowne to, where are 
you goiug. 
Bower, Bowre, any bowed or 
arched room, a parlour, cham- 
ber, also a dwelling in general. 
Bowre, bower, habitation, cham- 
ber, parlour, perhaps from isl. 
Bowan, to dwell. 
Bowre-icoman, s. chamber-maid. 
Boivre-window, chamber-window. 
Bowendes, bounds. 
Boione, ready. 

Boicne, ready, Bowned, prepared. 
Bowne ye, prepare ye, get ready. 
Boioys, bows. 
Brade, Braid, s. broad. 
Brae, s. the brow or side of a hill, 

a declivity. 
Braes of Yarrow, s. tho hilly 

banks of the river Yarrow. 
Braid, s. broad, large. 
Brakes, tufts of fern. 
Brand, sword. 
Brandes, swords. 
Brast, burst. 
Braste, burst. 
Braw, s. brave. 
Braijly, s. bravely. 
Brayd, s. arose, hastoned. 
Brayd attowre the bent, s. hasted 

over the field. 
Brayde, drew out, unsheathed. 
Breeeh, breeches. 
Breeden bale, breed mischief. 
Brede, breadth. So Chaucer. 



GLOSSARY. 



545 



Brede, bread. 

Bred banner, broad banner. 

Brenand-drake, p. may perhaps 
be the same as a fire-drake, or 
fiery serpent, a meteor or fire- 
work so called. Here it seems 
to signify burning embers, or 
fire brands. 

Brent/, Bryng, bring. 

Brenn, s. burn. 

Breere, Brere, briar. 

Brest, burst, broke. 

Brether, brethren. 

Bridal, (properly bride-all), the 
nuptial feast. 

Brigue, Brigg, bridge. 

/7/7//(/»f,public,universally known, 
a. s. Bryme, idem. 

Britled, carved, vid. Bryttlynge. 
Gloss, vol. 1. 

Broad-arroic, s. a broad forked 
headed arrow. 

Brooche, Brouche, 1st, a spit. 2dly, 
a bodkin. 3dly, any ornamental 
trinket. Stone buckles of silver 
or gold, with which gentlemen 
and ladies clasp their shirt- 
bosoms and handkerchiefs, are 
called in the north, brooches, 
from the f. broche, a spit. 

Brouch, an ornamental trinket, a 
stone buckle for a woman's 
breast, &c, vid. Brooche. Glos. 
vol. 3. 

Broeht, s. brought. 

Brochys, ornamental pins, or 
buckles, like the Roman fibula, 
(with a single prong) for the 
breast or head-dress. 

Brodinge, pricking. 

Brooke, bear, endure. 

Brooke, enjoy. 

Brouk her icith winne, enjoy her 
with pleasure, a. s. brok. 

Browd, broad. 

Brozt, brought. 

Bryttlynge, Brytling, cutting up, 
quartering, carving. 

Buen, Bueth, been, be, are. 

Bugle, bugle-horn, a hunting- 
horn, being the horn of a bugle, 
or wild bull. 

Buik, s. book. 

Burgens buds, young shoots. 

Burn, Bourn, brook. 

Bushment, ambushment, ambush, 
a snare to bring them into 
trouble. 

Busket, Buskt, dressed. 

Busk ye, s. dress ye. 

Busk, dress, deck. 

Busk and boun, i. e. make your- 
selves ready and go ; Boun, to 
go. (north country.) 

Buskt them, prepared themselves, 
made themselves ready. 



Bute, s. boot, advantage, good. 
But if, unless. 

But without, But let, without hin- 
drance. 
But, s. without, out of doors. 

Bct, or Butt, is from the Dutch Buy- 
ten. Lat. extra, prmter, pra'terquam, 
which is compounded of the same pre- 
position, By or Be, and of uyt, the same 
as out ia English. 

Butt, s. out, the outer room, 
Buttes, butts to shoot at. 
Bydys, Bides, abides. 
Byears, Beeres, biers. 
Bye, buy, pay for, also, Abey, 

suffer for. 
By 11, Bill, an ancient kind of hal- 

bert, or battle axe. 
Byn, Bine, Bin, been, be, are. 
Byrche, birch-trees, birch-wood. 
Byre, s. cow-house. 
Byste, beest, art. 
By thre, of three. 



C. 



Cadgily, s. merrily, cheerfully. 
Caitiff, a slave. 
Guide, callyd, called. 
Callver, a kind of musket. 
Camscho, s. stern, grim. 
(jU.-v/, s. cannot. 
Can cane, Gan, began to cry. 
Can curtesye, know, understand 

good manners. 
Can, Gan, began. 
Cannes, wooden-cups, bowls. 
Cantabanqni, ital. ballad-singers, 

singers on benches. 
Cantles, pieces, corners. 
Canty, s. cheerful, chatty. 
Capul, a poor horse. 
Capull hyde, horse-hide. 
Care-bed, bed of care. 
Carle, churl, clown. It is also 

used in the north for a strong 

hale old man. 
Carline, s. the feminine of carle. 
Carpe, to speak, recite, also to 

censure. 
Carping, reciting. 
Carpe of care, complain through 

care. 
Carlish, churlish, discourteous. 
Cast, mean, intend. 
Cau, s. call. 
Cauld, s. cold. 
Cawte, vid. Kawte. 
Caytiffe, caitiff, slave, despicable 

wretch. 
Certesi, certainly. 

Cetywall, Setiwall, the herb vale- 
rian ; also, mountain spikenard. 

See Gerard's Herbal. 



Chanteclere, the cock. 

Chap, knock. 

Chaste, chastise, correct. 

Chayme, chain. 

Chays, chase. 

Check, to stop. 

Check, to rate at. 

Che, (Somerset dialect), I. 

Cheefe, the upper part of the 
scutcheon in heraldry. 

Cheis, s. choose. 

Cheke, choaked. 

Chevaliers, f. knights. 

Chill, (Som. dial.) I will. 

Child, knight, children, knights. 

Chield, s. is a slight or familiar 
way, of speaking of a person, 
like our English word fellow. 
The Chield, i. e. the fellow. 

Chould, (ditto) I would. 

Christentie, Christendom. 

Christentye, Chrystiante, Christen- 
dom. 

Church-ale, a wake, a feast in 
commemoration of the dedica- 
tion of a church. 

Churl, clown, a person of low 
birth, a villain. 

Chyf, Chyfe, chief. 

Chylder, children, children's. 

Chylded, brought forth, was deli- 
vered. 

Claiths, s. clothes. 

Clattered, beat so as to rattle. 

Clawde, clawed, tore, scratched ; 
figuratively beat. 

dead, s. clothed. • 

Cleading, s. clothing. 

Cled, s. clad, clothed. 

Clenking, clinking, jingling. 

Clennesse, cleanness, chastity. 

Clepe, call. 

Cleaped, Cleped, called, named. 

Gierke, scholar. 

Clerks, clergymen, literati, scho- 
lars. 

Cliding, s. clothing. 

dim, the contraction of Clement. 

Clough, a north-country word for 
a broken cliff. 

Clowch, clutch, grasp. 

Clyppyng, embracing. 

Coate, cot, cottage. 

Cockers, a sort of buskins or short 
boots fastened with laces or but- 
tons, and often worn by farmers 
or shepherds. In Scotland they 
are called Cutikins, from Cute, 
the ankle. " Cokers, fishermen's 
boots." — (Littleton's Diction.) | 

Cohorted, incited, exhorted. 

Cokeney, seems to be a diminutive 
for cook, from the Latin co- 
quinator, or coquinarius. The 
meaning seems to be that 
" every five and five had a cook 



54G 



GLOSSARY. 



or scullion to attend them." — 
Chaucer's Cant. Tales, 8vo. vol. 
iv. p. 253. 

Collayne, Cologne steel. 

Cold roBt, (a phrase), nothing to 
tho purpose. 

Cold, could, knew. 

Coleyne, Cologne steel. 

Com, came. 

Combre, encumber, be too many 
for. 

Comen, Commyn, come. 

Confetered, confederated, entered 
into a confederacy. 

Con, can, gan, began. Item. Con- 
springe, (a phraso), sprung, 
Con fare, went, passed. 

Con thanks, give thanks. 

Cop head, the top of anything, sax. 

Corage, heart, spirit, inclination, 
disposition. 

Cofdiwin, cordwayne, properly 
Spanish or Cordovan leather ; 
here it signifies a more vulgar 
sort. 

Corsiare, courser, steed. 

Cost, coast side. 

Coote, coat. 

Cote, cot, cottage. Item, coat. 

Cotydyallye, daily, every day. 

Coulde, cold. Item, could. 

Could be, was. Could dye, died 
(a phrase). 

Could bear, a phrase for bare. 

Coxdd creip, s. crept. Could say, 
said. 

Could weip, s. wept. 

Could his good, knew what was 
good for him. Or perhaps could 
live upon his own. 

Countie, count, earle. 

Coupe, a pen for poultry. 

Couthen, knew. 

Couth, could. 

Covetise, covetousness. 

Coyntrie, Coventry. 

Cramasie, s. crimson. 

Crancky, merry, sprightly, exult- 
ing. 

Cranion, skull. 

Credence, belief. 

Crevis, crevice, chink. 

Cricke, s. properly an ant, but 
means probably any small in- 
sect. 

Crinkle, run in and out, run into 
flexures, wrinkle. 

Cristes cars, Christ's curse. 

Croft, an enclosure near a house. 

Croiz, cross. 

Crook my knee, make lame my 
knee. They say in the north, 
" The horse is crookit," i. e. 
lame. " The horse crooks," i. e. 
e;oes lame. 



Crook, twist, wrinkle, distort. 

Crowch, crutch. 

Crouneth, crown ye. 

Crowt, to pucker up. 

Crumpling, crooked; or perhaps 

with crooked knotty horns. 
Cryance, belief, f.Creance, [whence 

recreant]. But in p. 12, col. 1, 

Ac, it seems to signify fear, f. 

Crainte. 
Cule, cool. 
Cum, s. come, came. 
Cummer, s. gossip, friend, f. Com- 

mire, Compere. 
Cure, care, heed, regard. 
Curtes, courteous. 



D. 

Dale, s. deal, Bot give I dale, un- 
less I deal. 
Dame, mistress. Oure dameys 

peny, Our mistress's penny. 
Dampned, damned. 
Dampned, condemned. 
Dan, an ancient title of respect, 

from Lat. Dominus. 
Dank, moist, damp. 
Danske, Denmark, query. 
Darr'd, s. hit. 

Darh, perhaps for Thar, there. 
Dart the trie, s. hit the tree. 
Daukin, diminutive of David. 
Daunger hault, coyness holdeth. 
Dawes, (introd.), days. 
Dealan, deland, s. dealing. 
Deare day, charming pleasant 

day. 
Deas, Deis, the high table in a 

hall, from f. Dais, a canopy. 
Dee, a. die. 
De, dey, dy, die. 
Dede is do, deed is done. 
Deed (introd.) dead. 
Deid, a. Dede, deed. Item, dead. 
Deid-bell, a. passing-bell. 
Dell, deal, part. Every dell, every 

part. 
Dell, narrow valley. 
Dele, deal. 
Delt, dealt. 

Deelye dight, richly fitted out. 
Demains, demesnes, estate in 

lands. 
Deme, deemed, judge, doomed. 
Deemed, doomed, judged, Ac. ; 

thus, in the Isle of Man, judges 

are called deemsters. 
Den, grave. 

Denay, deny (rhythmi gratia). 
Dent, a dint, blow. 
Deimt, s. deemed, esteemed. 
Deip, s. Depe, deep. 
Dcir, s. Deere, Dere, dear. 



Deir, a. dear. Item, hurt, trouble, 

disturb. 
Deol, dole, grief. 
Deepe-fette, deep-fetched. 
Depured, purified, run clear. 
Deere, hurt, mischief. 
Deerly, preciously, richly. 
Dere, Deye, die. 
Dere, Deere, dear, also hurt. 
Derked, darkened. 
Dcrn, s. secret, I dern in secret. 
Descreeve, describe. 
Descrye, Descrive, describe. 
Devyz, devise, the act of bequeath- 
ing by will. 
Dight, decked, put on. 
Dight-dicht, s. decked, dressed, 

prepared, fitted out, done. 
Dill, dole, grief, pain. Dill I 

drye, pain I suffer. Dill was 

dight, grief was upon him. 
Dill, still, calm, mitigate. 
Din, Dinne, noise, bustle. 
Ding, knock, beat. 
Dint, stroke, blow. 
Discust, discussed. 
Disna, s. does not. 
Dis, this. 
Distrere, the horse rode by a 

knight in the tournament. 
Dites, ditties. 
Dochter, s. daughter. 
Do gladly, eat heartily. 
Dois, s. Doys, does. 
Dole, grief. 
Dol. See Deol, Dale. 
Dolours, dolorous, mournful. 
Dolefuldumps, sorrowful gloom, or 

heaviness of heart. 
Doluyn, delved, buried. 
Don, down. 
Dosend, s. dosing, drowsy, torpid, 

benumbed, &c. 
Doth, Dothe, doeth, do. 
Doubt, fear. 
Doublet, a man's inner garment, 

waistcoat. 
Doubteous, doubtful. 
Doughetie, i. e. doughty man. 
Doughte, Doughete, Doughetie, 

Dowghtye, doughty, formidable. 
Doughtiness of dent, sturdiness of 

blows. 
Dounae, s. am not able ; properly, 

cannot take the trouble. 
Doute, doubt. Item, fear. 
Doutted, doubted, feared. 
Donzty, doughty. 
Dozter, daughter. 
Doz-trogh, a dough-trough, a 

kneading-trough. 
Dradde, dreaded, feared. 
Drake. See Brenand Drake. 
Drap, s. drop. 
Drapping, s. dropping. 



GLOSSARY. 



547 



Bre, suffer. 

Drede, fear, doubt. 

Dreid, s. Dreede, Drcde, dread. 

Breips, s. drips, drops. 

Breiry, s. dreary. 

•Brewre. The word propeny sig- 
nified love, courtship, &c, and 
hence a love-token, or love-gift; 
in which sense it is used by 
Bp. Douglas. 

Brie, s. suffer. 

Brough, drew. 

Brouyers, drovers, such as drive 
herds of cattle, deer, &c. 

Browe, drew. 

Brye, suffer. 

Bryghnes, dryness. 

Bryng, drink. 

Bryvars, drovers. 

Buble dyse, double (false) dice. 

Bude, did. Budest, didst. 

Bughtie, doughty. 

Bide, s. Buel, Bol, dole, grief. 

Bwcllan, Bwelland, s. dwelling. 

Byan, Byand, s. dying. 

Byce, s. dice, chequer-work. 

Byd, Byde, did. 

Byght, dight, dressed, put on, put. 

Byht, to dispose, order. 

Byne, s. dinner. 

Bynte, dint, blow, stroke. 

Bysgysynge, disguising, masking. 

Byrt, vid. Bight. 



E. 



Eame, Erne, uncle. 

Eard, s. earth. 

Earn, s. to curdle, make cheese. 

Eatke, easy. 

Eather, s. either. 

Ech, Eche, Eiche, Elke, each. 

Ee, s. Eie, eye. Een, Eyne, eyes. 

Ee, even, evening. 

Effund, pour forth. 

Eftsoon, in a short time. 

Eiked, s. added, enlarged. 

Ein, s. even. 

Eir, Evir, s. e'er, ever. 

Eke, also ; EiJce, each. 

Eldern, s. elder. 

Eldridge, Scotice, Elriche, El- 
ritch, Elriche ; wild, hideous, 
ghostly. Item, lonesome, unin- 
habited, except by spectres, &o. 
Gloss, to A. Ramsey, Elritcht, 
laugh. Gen. Shep. a. 5. 

In the ballad of Sir Cawline, we 
have " Eldridge Hill," pt. 1, ver. 59, 
Eldridge Knight, pt 1, v. 63. pt. 2, 
V. 86. Eldridge Sword, pt. 1, v. 145. 
So Gawin Douglas calls the Cyclops, 
the " Elriche Brethir," i. e. brethren ; 
and in his Prologue, he thus describes 
the night-owl, 



" Laitbely of forme, with crukit cam- 

scho beik, 
TJgsome to here was his wyld Elriche 

skriek." 
In Bannatyne's MS. Poems (fol. 135, 
in the Advocates' Library at Edin- 
burgh) is a whimsical rhapsody of a 
deceased old woman, travelling in the 
other world, in which, 
" Scho wanderit, and zeid, by to an 

EIrich well." 
In the Glossary to G. Douglas, El- 
riche, &c, is explained by " wild, hide- 
ous, Lat. Tiux. immanis ;" but it seems 
to imply somewhat more, as in Allan 
Bamsay's Glossary. 

Elke, each. 

Ellumynge, embellishing. To il- 
lumine a book was to ornament 
it with paintings in miniature. 

Ellyconys, s. Helicons. 

Elvish, peevish, fantastical. 

Erne, kinsman, uncle. 

Endyed, dyed. 

Eny, s. Eyn, eyes, Ene, s. even. 

Enharpid, hooked or edged with 
mortal dread. 

Enkankered, cankered. 

Enouch, s. enough. * 

Ensue, follow. 

Entendement, f. understanding. 

Ententifly, to the intent, purposely. 

Envie, Envye, malice, ill-will, in- 
jury. 

Er, Ere, before, are, Ere, ear. 

Erst, s. heretofore. 

Eterminable, interminable, unli- 
mited. 

Ettled, aimed. 

Evanished, s. vanished. 

Everiche, every, each. 

Everychone, every one. 

Everych, one, every one. 

Ewbughts, or Ewe-boughts, s. are 
small enclosures, or pens, into 
which the farmers drive (Sco- 
tice, weir) their milch ewes 
morning and evening, in order 
to milk them. They are com- 
monly made with fall-dykes, 
i. e. earthen dykes. 

Eyre, heir. 

Eysell, vinegar. 

Ezar, azure. 

F. 

Fach, Feche, fetch. 

Fader, Fatheris, s. Fadur, father, 

fathers. His fadur eyre, his 

father's heir. 
Fadge, s. a thick loaf of bread, 

figuratively, any coarse heap of 

stuff. 
Fa, s. fall. 
Fa's, s. thou fallest. 
Fain, Fayne, glad, fond. 
Faine, Fayne, feign. 
Faine of fighte, fond of fighting. 



Fair of feir, s. of a fair and 
healthful look. (Ramsay) per- 
haps, far off (free from) fear. 

Fallan, Falland, s. falling. 

Falds, s. thou foldest. 

Fals, false. Item, falleth. 

Falser, a deceiver, hypocrite 

Falsing, dealing in falsehood. 

Fannes, instruments for winnow- 
ing corn. 

Fang, seize, carry off. 

Farden, fared, flashed. 

Fare, go, pass, travel. 

Fare, the price of a passage, shot, 
reckoning. 

Farley, wonder. 

Fa%iell, deceit. See Skelton's 
Bowge of Courte. The mean- 
ing of the text is nevertheless 
still obscure, though it should 
seem to be the origin of our 
modern phrase to curry favour. 

Fanlcone, faulcon. 

Fauzt, faucht, s. fought. It., fight. 

Fawn, s. fallen. 

Fay, Faye, faith. 

Fayere, fair. 

Fayne, fain, glad. 

Faytors, deceivers, dissemblers, 
cheats. 

Feare, Fere, Feire, mate. 

Feat, nice, neat. 

Featously, neatly, dexterously. 

Feble, Febull, Febyll, poor, 
wretched, miserable. 

Fe, fee, reward ; also bribe. But 
properly fee is applied to lands 
and tenements which are held 
by perpetual right, and by ac- 
knowledgment of superiority to 
a higher lord. Thus, in fee, i. e. 
in feudal service, 1. feudum, 
&c. — Blount. 

Feffe, enfeoff. 

Fell, s. Fele, many. So Hardinge 
has Lords fele, i. e. many 
Lords. 

Feir, s. Fere, fear. 

Felay, Feloy, fellow. 

Fele, Fell, furious, skin. 

Fend, defend. 

Fendys pray, &c, from being the 
prey of the fiends. 

Fee, reward, recompense ; it also 
signifies land when it is con- 
nected with the tenure by which 
it is held, as knight's fee, &c. 

Fere, fear. Item, companion, wife, 
husband, lover, friend. 

Ferliet, s. wondered. 

Fe.rly, wonder, also wonderful. 

Fersly, fiercely. 

Feztyng, fighting. 

Fesante, pheasant. 

Fette, fetched. 



548 



GLOSSARY. 



Fetteled, prepared, addressed, 
made ready. 

Fet, fetched. 

Feys, s. predestinated to death, 
or some misfortune ; under a 
fatality. 

Feyt, faith. 

Fie, beasts, cattle. 

Fillan, Filland, s. filling. 

Filde, field. 

Finatmce, fine, forfeiture. 

Find frost, find mischance or dis- 
aster. A phrase still in use. 

Firth, Frith, s. a wood. It., an 
arm of the sea, 1. fretum. 

Fitt, division, part. 

Fitts, i. e. "divisions or parts in 
music" are alluded to in Troilus and 
Cressida, A. Hi. sc. 1. See Mr. Stoe- 
vens's note. So in Shakspeare's King 
Henry V. (A. 3, se. 8), the king says 
'• My army's but a weak and sickly 
guard, 
Yet God before, tell him we will come 
on." 

Fit, Fyt, Fytte, part or division 

of a song. Hence Fytt, is a 

strain of music. 
Fit, s. foot. 
Fit, s. feet. 
Fiveteen, fifteen. 
Flayne, flayed. 
Fles, p. fleece. 
Fleyke, a large kind of hurdle. 

Cows are frequently milked in 

hovels made ef fieykes. 
Flindars, s. pieces, splinters. 
Flowan, s. flowing. 
Fhjt, shift. 
Flyte, to contend with words, 

scold. 
Folya, fools. 
Fom, Fome, sea. 
Foo, foes. 

Forebode, commandment, God 
forbode, Ouer Gods forbode, 

[Prseter Dei preceptum sit.] 

q. d. God forbid. 
Fond, contrive, also endeavour, 

fly, try. 
Fonde, found. 
Fone, foes. 

Force, no force, no matter. 
Forced, regarded, heeded. 
Fordo, undo, ruin, destroy. 
Foregoe, quit, give up, resign. 
Forewearied, much wearied. 
For/end, prevent, defend. 
For/end, avert, hinder. 
For-fought, overfought. 
Formure, former. 
For, on account of. 
Forsede, regarded, heeded. 
Fors, I do no f o)-8, I don't care. 
Forst, heeded, regarded. 
For8t, forced, compelled. 



Forsters of the fe, foresters of the 
king's demesnes. 

Fort, drunk. 

Forthozt, thought of, remembered. 

Forthy, therefore. 

Forthynketh, repentoth, vexeth, 
troubleth. 

Fou, Fow, s. full, also fuddled. 

Fou, Fow, s. full. Item, drunk. 

Fowarde, Vawarde, the van. 

Forwatcht, overwatched, kept 
awake. 

Frae, s. fro, from. 

Frae they begin, from their begin- 
ning, from the timo they begin. 

Freake, Freke, Freyke, man, per- 
son, human creature, also a 
whim or maggot. 

Freake, Freke, Freyke, man, hu- 
man creature, fellow. 

Fre-bore, free-born. 

Freekys, persons. 

Freits, s. ill-omens, ill-luck, any 
old superstitious saw, or im- 
pression. 

An ingenious correspondent in the 
North thinks Freit is not an unlucky 
omen, but, " that thing which terri- 
fies," viz. Terrors will pursue them 
that look after frightful things. Fright 
is pronounced by the common people 
in the North Freet. 

Freere, Fere, mate, companion. 

Freers, Fryars, friars, monks. 

Freyke, humour, indulge, freak- 
ishly, capriciously. 

Freyned, asked. 

Frie, s. Fre, free. 

Froo, from. 

Fruward, forward. 

Ftirth, forth. 

Fuyson, foyson, plenty, also sub- 
stance. 

Fowkin, a cant word for a fart. 

Fyers, (intro.) fierce. 

Fykkill, fickle. 

Fyll, fell. 

Fyled, fyling, defiled, defiling. 

Fyr, fire. 

Fytt, fit, part, canto. 

Fytte, strain. 



G. 

Gaberlunzie, Gaberlnnye, s. a wal- 
let. 

Gaberlunzie-mun, s. a wallet-man, 
i. e. tinker, beggar. 

Gadlings, gadders, idle follows. 

Gadryng, gathering. 

Gae, s. gave. 

Gae, Goes, s. go, goes. 

Gaed, Gade, s. went. 

Ga, Gais, s. go, goes. 

Gair, s. geer, dress. 



Galliard, a sprightly kind of 

dance. 
Gamon, to make game, to 6port, 

a. s. Damenian, jocari. Hence 

backgammon. 
Gane, Gan, began. 
Gane, s. gone. 
Gang, s. go. 
Ganyde, gained. 
Garde, Gar red, made. 
Gare, Gar, s. make, cause, force, 

compel. 
Gargeyld, from Gargouille, f. the 

spout of a gutter. The tower was 

adorned with spouts cut in the 

figures of greyhounds, lions, <fcc. 
Gar, s. to make, cause, &o. 
Garhxnd, the ring within which 

the prick or mark was set to be 

shot at. 
Gart, Garred, s. made. 
Gayed, made gay (their clothes). 
Gear, Geire, Geir, Gair, s. goods, 

effects, stuff. 
Gederede ys host, gathered his 

host. 
Gef, Geve, give. 
Geid, s. gave. 
Geere will sicay, this matter will 

turn out, affair terminate. 
Gerte, (intro.) pierced. 
Gest, act, feat, story, history, (it 

is jest in MS.) 
Getinge, what he had got, his 

plunder, booty. 
Geve, Gevend, give, given. 
Gibed, jeered. 
Gie, Gien, s. give, given. 
Giff, if. 
Gife, Giff, if. 
Gi, Gie, s. give. 
Gillore, (Irish) plenty. 
Gimp, Jim}), s. neat, slender. 
Gin, s. an, if. 

Gin, Gyn, engine, contrivance. 
Gins, begins. 

Gij), an interjection of contempt. 
Girt, s. pierced, Thorough-girt, 

pierced through. 
Give owre, s. surrender. 
Give, Gif, Giff, if. 
Glaive, f. sword. 
Glede, a red-hot coal. 
Glee, merriment, joy. 
Glen, s. a narrow valley. 
Glente, glanced, slipt. 
Glie, s. glee, merriment, joy. 
Glist, s. glistened. 
Glose, set a false gloss or colour. 
Glowr, s. stare, or frown. 
Gloze, canting dissimulation, fair 

outside. 
God, goods, merchandise. 
Goddes, goddess. 
Gode, (intro.) good. 





GLOSSARY. 


549 


Gode, goods, property. 


Gyn, engine, contrivance. 


Heathenness, the heathen part of 


Goo, gone. 


Gyrd, girded, lashed. 


the world. 


Good, p. sc. a good deal. 


Gyse, s. guise, form, fashion, way, 


Heeh, hatch, small door. 


Good-e'ens. good e'enings. 


manner, method. 


Hecht to lay thee law, s. promised, 


Goon, go. 




engaged to lay thee low. 


Gode, Godness, good, goodness. 




Hede, Hied, he'd, he would, hoed. 


God-before, i. e. God be thy guide, 


H. 


Hed, Hede, head. 


a form of blessing. 




Hedur, hither. 


Goggling eyen, goggle eyes. 


Habbe ase he brew, have as he 


Hee's, s. he shall, also he has. 


Gone, (intro.) go. 


brews. 


He, Hee, Hye, high, 


Gorget, the dress of the neck. 


Habergeon, f. a lesser coat of mail. 


He, Hie, hasten. 


Gowan, s. the common yellow 


Hable, able. 


He, Hye, to hie or hasten. 


crow-foot, or goldcup. 


Haggis, a sheep's stomach stuffed 


Heicht, s. height. 


Gowd, s. Gould, gold. 


with a pudding made of mince- 


Heiding-hill, s. the 'heading (i. e. 


Graine, scarlet. 


meat, &o. 


beheading) hill. The place of 


Graithed gowden, s. was capari- 


Ha, Hae, s. have. Item, hall. 


execution was anciently an ar- 


soned with gold. 


Ha, s. hall. 


tificial hillock. 


Gramarcy, thanks, grand mercie. 


Ha, have. Ha, s. hall. 


Heil, s. hell, health. 


Gramercye, i. e. I thank you, f. 


Hail, hale, s. whole, altogether. 


Heir, s. here, hear. 


Grand-mercie. 


Hatched, Halsed, saluted, em- 


Hele, health. 


Graunge, granary, also a lone 


braced, fell on his neck, from 


Helen, heal. 


country house. 


halse, the neck, throat. 


Helpeth, help ye. 


Graythed, s. decked, put on. 


Halesome, wholesome, healthy. 


Hem, Em, them. 


Grea-hondes, grey-hounds. 


Halt, holdeth. 


Henne, hence. 


Greece, fat, (a fat hart) from f. 


Hame, Hamward, homej home- 


Hend, kind, gentle. 


graisse. 


ward. 


Hende, civil, gentle. 


Grece, a step, a flight of steps, 


Handbotc, the long-bow, or com- 


Hente, (intro.) help, pulled. 


Grees. 


mon bow, as distinguished from 


Hent, Hente, held, laid hold of, 


Gree, s. a prize, a victory. 


the cross-bow. 


also received, take. 


Greened, grew green. 


Han, have, 3 pers. plur. 


Heo, (intro.) they. 


Grennyng, grinning. 


Hare swerdes, their swordes. 


Heere, hear. 


Greet, s. weep. 


Haried, harried, haryed, harowed, 


Here, their, hear, hair. 


Gret, great, grieved, swoln, ready 


robbed, pillaged, plundered. 


Her, hare, their. 


to burst. 


" He harried a bird's nest." — 


Herkneth, hearken ye. 


Gret, Grat, great. 


Scott. 


Hert, Hertis, heart, hearts. 


Greves, Groves, bushes. 


Harrowed, harassed, disturbed. 


Hes, s. has. 


Groomes, attendants, servants. 


Harloclce, perhaps charlocke, or 


Hest, hast. 


Groundwa, groundwall. 


wild rape, which bears a yellow 


Hest, command, injunction. 


Groivende, Growynd, ground. 


flower, and grows among corn, 


Hett, Hight, bid, call, command. 


Growncs, grounds, (rhy thmi gratia. 


<fcc. 


Het, hot. 


Vid. Sowne.) 


Harnisine, harness, armour. 


Hether, hither. 


Growte, in Northamptonshire is a 


Hartly lust, hearty desire. 


Hether, s. heath, a low shrub that 


kind of small beer extracted 


Harwos, harrows. 


grows upon the moors, &c. so 


from the malt after the strength 


Hastarddis, perhaps hasty rash 


luxuriantly as to choak the 


has been drawn off. In Devon 


fellows, or upstarts, qu. 


grass, to prevent which the in- 


it is a kind of sweet ale medi- 


Hatche, a low or half door. 


habitants set whole acres of it 


cated with eggs, said to be a 


Hauld, s. to hold. Item, hold, 


on fire, the rapidity of which 


Danish liquor. 


strong, bold. 


gave the poet that apt and noble 


Growte is a kind of fare much used 
by Danish sailors, being boiled groats, 
(i.e. hulled oats) or else shelled barley, 
served up very thick, and butter added 
to it. (Mr. Lambe.) 


Hauss-bane, s. the neck-bone, 
(halse-bone) a phrase for the 
neck. 

Haves, (of) effects, substance, 


simile, in p. (Mr. Hutchinson.) 
Heuch, s. a rock or steep hill. 
Hevede, Hevedest, had, hast. 
Heveriche, Hevenrich, heavenly. 




riches. 


Hewkes, heralds' coats. 


Gn'ppel, griping, tonacious, mi- 


Hav, have. 


Hewyne in to, hewn in two. 


serly. 


Haviour, behaviour. 


Heioyng, Hewinge, hewing, hack- 


Grype, a griffin. 


Hawberk, a coat of mail consist- 


ing. 


Gryse, a species of fur. 


ing of iron rings, &o. 


Hey-day guise, frolic, sportive 


Grysely groned, dreadfully 


Hawkin, synonymous to Halkin, 


frolicsome manner. 


groaned. 
Gude, Guid, Geud, s. good. 
Guerdon, reward. 
Gule, red. 
Gybe, jest, joke. 


dimin. of Harry. 
Hayll, advantage, profit, (for the 

profit of all England,) a. s. Hsel, 

salus. 
Heal, hail. 


This word is perhaps corruptly 
given, being apparently the same with 
Hetdeguies, or Hetdeguives, which 
occurs in Spenser, and means a " wild 
frolic dance." — Johnson's Dictionary. 


Gyle, guile. 


Heare, here, hair. 


Heynd, Hend, gentle, obliging. 


Gyles, guiles. 


Hear, here. 


Heyre, high, Heyd, s. hied. 



550 


GLOSSARY. 




Hicht A-hicht, s. on height. 


Hoved or hoven means in the 


properly the contraction of joy, 


Hie dames to wail, s. high (or 


North swelled. But Mr. Lambe 


so rejoice is written rejoce in 


great) ladies to wail, or, hasten, 


thinks it is the same as houd, 


old Scottish MSS. particularly 


ladies, to wail, &c. 


still used in the North, and ap- 


Banatyne's — passim. 


Hie, go, run. 


plied to any light substance 


Jow, s. joll or jowl. 


Hie, Hye, He, Hee, high. 


heaving to and from an undulat- 


Jape, an upper garment, fr. a 


H/yh, hye, come, hasten, return 


ing surface. The vowel u is often 


petticoat. 


speedily. 


used there for the consonant v. 




Eight, engago, engaged, promised, 


Hoiceres, Howers, hours. 


K. 


named, called. 


Huerte, heart. 




Hi, Hie, he. 


Huggle, hug, clasp. 


Kail, call. 


Hillys, hills. 


Hye, Hyest, high, highest. 


Kame, s. comb. 


Hilt, taken off, flayed, Sax. hyldcn. 


Hyght, promised. 


Kameing, s. combing. 


Hineh-boys, Hench, properly 


Hyghte, on high, aloud. 


Kan, can. 


haunch-men, pages of honour, 


Hyne, a hind is a servant. 


Kantle-pieee, corner. 


pages attending on persons of 


Hyp-halt, lame in the hip. 


Karls, carls, churls, Karlis of 


office. 


Hyndattowre, s. behind, over, or 


kynd, churls by nature. 


Hind, s. behind. 


about. 


Kauk, s. chalk. 


Hinde, Hend, gentle. 


Hys, his, also is. 


Kauled, called. 


Hinge, s. hangs. 


Hyt, (intro.) it. 


Kawte and keene, cautious and 


Hinny, s. honey. 


Hyznes, highness. 


active, 1. cautus. 


Hip, Hep, the berry which con- 




Keipand, s. keeping. 


tains the stones or seeds of the 




Keel, s. raddle. 


dog-rose. 


I. 


Kele, cool. 


Hir, Hir lane, s. her, herself alone. 




Kempes, soldiers, warriors. 


Hirsel, s. herself. 


Ich, I, Ich biqueth, I beqtieath. 


Kemper ye-mun, soldier, warrior, 


Hit, it, Hit be write, it be written. 


Jclipped, called. 


fighting-man. 


Hode, hood, cap. 


Iff, if- 


"Germanis camp, exercitum, aut lo- 


Hoo, ho, an interjection stopping 


/ fere, to gather. 


cum ubi exercitus castrametatur. sig- 


or desisting, hence stoppage. 


Ifeth, in faith. 


nificat: inde ipsis vir Castrensis, et 
militaris kemffer, et kempher et kemper, 


Hollen, probably a corruption for 


Ilfardly, s. ill-favoured, uglily. 


et Limbo; et hamper, pro varietate dia- 


holly. 


Ild, I'd, I would. 


lectorum vocatur. A'ocabulum hoc 


Holden, hold. 


lie, I'll, I will. 


nostro scrmone nondum penitus exo- 
levit : Norfolcienses enim plebio, et 


Hole, whole. Holl, idem. 


Ilka, s. each, every one. 


proletario sermone dicunt." He is a 


Hooly, s. slowly. 


Hke, every Ilk, every one. 


kemper old man, i. e. " Senex vegetus 
est." "Hiuc Gimbris suum nomen; 


Holies, woods, groves, in Norfolk 


Ilk, This Ilk, s. this same. 


Kinther enum homo bellicosus pugil, 


a plantation of cherry-trees, is 
called a " cherry holt," also 


Ilk one, each one. 

I-lore, lost, I-strike, stricken. 


robustus miles, &c, significat." She- 
ringham de Anglor. nentis orig. pag. 
57. Rectius au tem Lazius [apud eun- 


sometimes " hills." 


Im, him. 


dum, p. 49]. " Cimbros, a bello quod 


Holtes seems evidently to signify 


Impe, a little demon. 


hamff, et 8axonice kamp, nuncupates 
crediderim, unde bellatores, viri dit 


hills in the following passage from Tu- 


In fere, I fere, to gather. 


kempffer, die kemper." 


berville's " Songs and [Sonnets," 12mo. 
1567, fol. 56. 


Ingle, s. fire. 


Kempt, combed. 


" Yee that frequent the hilles, 


Inowe, enough. 


Kerns, s. combs. 


And highest Holtes of all, 


Into, s. in. 


Kend, s. knew. 


Assist me with your skilful quilles, 
And listen when I call." 


Litres, entrance, admittance. 


Ken, Kenst, know, knowest. 


As also in this other verse of an ancient 


Io forth, corruptly printed so, 


Kene, keen. 


poet, 
" Underneath the Holtes so hoar." 


should probably be loo, i. e. 


Keepe, care, heed. So in the old 




halloo. 


play of Hick Scorner (in the 


Holtis hair, s. hoar hills. 


Ireful, angry, furious. 


last leaf but one),." I keepe not 


Holy-roode, holy cross. 


Ise, I shall. 


to clymbe so hye," i. e. I study 


Holy, wholly, or perhaps hole, 


Is, is, his. 


not, care not, &c. 


whole. 


I trowe, (I believe) verily. 


Kepers, &c, those that watch by 


Horn, Hem, them. 


Its neir, s. it shall ne'er. 


the corpse shall tie up my 


Honden icrynge, hands wring. 


I-tuned, tuned. 


winding-sheet. 


Hondridth, Hondred, hundred. 


I-ween, (I think) verily. 


Kever-chcfes, handkerchiefs, (vid. 


Hone, hand. 


/ wisse, (I know) verily. 


intro.) 


Honge, hang, hung. 


/ toot, (I know) verily. 


Kid, Kyd, Kithe, made known, 


Hontyng, hunting. 


I wys, I wis, (I know) verily. 


shown. 


Hop-halt, limping, hopping, and 


lye, eye. 


Kilted, s. tucked up. 


halting. 


Janglers, talkative persons, tell- 


Kind, Kinde, nature, p. to carp is 


Hose, stockings. 


tales, also wranglers. 


our kind, it is natural for us to 


Hount, hunt. 


Jenkin, diminutive of John. 


talk of. 


Houzlc, give the sacrament. 


Jimp, s. slender. 


Kirk, s. church. 


Hoved, heaved, or perhaps hover- 


Jogelers, jugglers. 


Kirk-wa, s. church-wall, or per- 


ed, hung moving, (Gl. Chauc.) 


Jo, s. sweet-heart, friend. Jo is 


haps church-yard-wall. 



GLOSSARY. 



551 



Kirm, s. churn. 

Kirtle, a petticoat, woman's gown. 

Kiata, s. chests. 

Kit, cut. 

Kith and Jcin, acquaintance and 
kindred. 

Kithe or Kin, acquaintance nor 
kindred. 

Knave, servant. 

Kneen, knees. 

Knellan, Knelland, s. knelling, 
ringing the knell. 

Knichl, b. knight. 

Knighta fee, such a portion of 
land as required the possessor 
to serve with man and horse. 

Knowles, Knolls, little hills. 

Knyled, knelt. 

Kowarde, coward. 

Kowe, cow. 

Kurteis, courteous. 

Kuntrey, country. 

Kynd, nature. 

Kythe, appear, also make appear, 
show, declare. 

Kythed, s. appeared. 

Kyrtell, vid. Kirtle. In the intro. 
it signifies a man's under gar- 
ment. 

Bale, in his Actes of English Vota- 
ries, (2d part, fol. 53), uses the word 
Kyrtle to signify a Monk's Frock. He 
says Roger, Earl of Shrewsbury, when 
he was dying, sent " to Clunyake, in 
France, for the Kyrtle of Hugh the 
Abbot there," Ac. 

Kye, Kine, cows. 



Lacke, want. 

Lagh, laugh. 

Laghing, laughing. 

Laide unto her, imputed to her. 

Laith, s. loth. 

Laithly, s. loathsome, hideous. 

Lambs-ivool, a cant phrase for ale 

and roasted apples. 
Lane, Lain, s. lone. Her lane, 

alone by herself. 
Lang, s. long. 
Langsome, s. long, tedious. 
Lante, lent. 
Lap, s. leaped. 
Largesse, f. gift, liberality. 
Lasse, less. 

Lauch, lauched, s. laugh, laughed. 
Launde, lawn. 
Layden, laid. 
Laye, law. 
Lay-land, land that is not 

ploughed, green-sward. 
Lay-lands, lands in general. 
Layne, lain, Vid. Leane. 
Layne, lien, also laid. 

70 



Lea, lea, field, pasture. 

Leal, Leil, s. loyal, honest, true, 
f. loyal. 

Leane, conceal, hide, Item, lye, 
(query.) 

Leanyde, leaned. 

Learnd, learned, taught. 

Lease, lying, falsehood. With- 
outen lease, verily. 

Leasynge, lying, falsehood. 

Lee, lea, the field, plain, open field. 

Lee, s. lie. 

Leeche, physician. 

Leechinge, doctoring, medicinal 
care. 

Leek, phrase of contempt. 

Leffe, (Intro.) Leefe, dear. 

Lefe, Leeve, dear. That is the 
lefe, that is so dear to thee ; 
whom thou art so fond of; dear, 
or beloved. Be hym lefe, or be 
hym loth, let him like it or not; 
let him be agreeable or unwil- 
ling. 

Leid, s. lyed. 

Leiman, Leman, lover, mistress. 

Leir, s. Lere, learn. 

Leive, s. leave. 

Leman, Lemman, mistress, concu- 
bine, lover, gallant, paramour. 

Lene, lend. 

Lenger, longer. 

Lengeth in, resideth in. 

Leer, look. 

Lere, face, complexion, a. s. 
hleane, facies, vultus. 

Lere, learn. 

Lemed, learned, taught. 

Leese, s. lose. 

Lett, Latte, hinder, slacken, leave 
off, Late, let. 

Lette, delay. Lette not for this, 
be not hindered or prevented 
by what has happened from 
proceeding. 

Lettest, hinderest, detainest. 

Let, hinder, hindered. 

Lettyng, hindrance, i. e. without 
delay. 

Leuch, Leugh, s. laughed. 

Leue, believe. 

Leeve London, dear London, an 
old phrase. 

Leeveth, believeth. 

Lever, rather. 

Leves and Boices, leaves and 
boughs. 

Lewd, ignorant, scandalous. 

Lewde, foolish. 

Leyke, Like, play. 

Leyre, lere, learning, lore. 

Libbarde-bane, a herb so called. 

Libbard, leopard. 

Lichtly, s. lightly, easily, nimbly. 

Lie, s. Lee, field, plain. 



Liege-men, vassals, subjects. 

Lig, s. lie. 

Lightly, easily. 

Lightsome, cheerful, sprightly. 

Liked, pleased. 

Limitours, friars licensed to beg 

within certain limits. 
Limitacioune, a certain precinct 

allowed to a liinitour. 
Lingell, a thread of hemp rubbed 

with rosin, &c, used by rustics 

for mending their shoes. 
Lire, flesh, complexion. 
Lith, Lithe, Lythe, attend, hearken, 

listen. 
Lither, idle, worthless, naughty, 

froward. 
Liver, deliver. 
Liverance, deliverance, (money, 

or a pledge for delivering you 

up.) 
Lodlye, loathsome. Vid. Lothly. 
Lo'e, Loed, s. love, loved. 
Lought, Lowe, Lagh, laughed. 
Loo, halloo ! 
Loke, lock of wool. 
Longes, belongs. 
Lope, leaped. 
Lorrel, Losel, a sorry worthless 

person. 
Lordyngys, &c, sirs, masters, gen- 
tlemen. 
Lore, lesson, doctrine, learning. 
Lore, lost. 
Lore, doctrine. 
Loset, losed, loosed. 
Lothly, (vide Lodlye) loathsome. 

The adverbial terminations some 
and LY were applied indifferently by 
our old writers : thus as we have Lothly 
for loathsome, so we have Ugsome in 
a sense not very remote from Ugly, in 
Lord Serrey's Version of JEneid. 11. 
viz. " In every place the ugsome sights 
I saw." 

Loud and still, phrase, at all times. 

Lough, laugh, laughed. 

Louked, looked. 

Lounge, (Intro.) lung. 

Loiin, s. Loum, Loon, rascal, from 
the Irish Linn, slothful, slug- 
gish. 

Lourd, Lour, s. Lever, had rather. 

Louted, Lowtede, lowed, did obei- 
sance. 

Loves. Of all loves, an adjuration 
frequently used by Shakspeare 
and contemporary writers. 

Loveth, love, plural number. 

Lowe, a little hill. 

Loiode and stylle, windy and calm. 

Lowhe, laughed. 
| Lowns, s. blazes, rather opposed 
to windy, boisterous. 

Loiote, Lout, bow, stoop. 

Lude, Luid, Luivt, s. loved. 



552 



GLOSSARY. 



Luc/, love. 

Lues, Luve, s, loves, love 

Lvicks, s. looks. 

Lurden, Lurdeyne, sluggard, 

drone. 
Lyan, Lyand, s. lying. 
Lyard, gray, a name given to a 

horse from its gray colour, as 

Bayard, from bay. 
Lyiit/c, Lync, the lime tree, or 

collectively lime trees, or trees 

in general. 
Lys, lies. 

Lystenyth, (Intro.) listen. 
Lyik, Lyihe, Lythsome, pliant, 

flexible, easy, gentle. 
Lyven na More, live no more, no 

longer. 
Lyzt, light. 

M. 

Maden, made. 

Mahound, Jfahowne, Mahomet. 

Mair, s. Mure, more. 

Mait, s. might. 

Majeste, Maist, 3Iayeste, may'st. 

Making, sc. verses, versifying. 

Makys, Makes, mates. 

As the words make and mate were 
in some cases used promiscuously by 
ancient writers ; so the words cake and 
cate seem to have been applied with 
the same indifferency : this will illus- 
trate that common English Proverb, 
" to turn Cat (i. e. Cate; in pan." A 
Pan-cake is in Northamptonshire still 
called a Pan-cate. 

Male, coat of mail. 

Mane, man. Item, moan. 

Mane, Maining, s. moan, moaning. 

Munguncl, an engine used for dis- 
charging great stones, arrows, 
&c, before the invention of 
gunpowder. 

March perti, in the parts lying 
upon the marches. 

March-pine, March-pane, a kind 
of biscuit. 

Margarite, a pearl, 1. 

Marrow, s. equal. 

Mark, a coin, in value 13s. id. 

Mart, s. marred, hurt, damaged. 

Mast, Maste, may'st. 

Masterye, Mayestry, a trial of skill, 
high proof of skill. 

Maugre, spite of, ill will (I incur). 

Maugre, in spite of. 

Mauger, Maugre, spite of. 

Maun, s. must. 

Maun, s. Mun, must. 

Mavis, s. a thrush. 

Mawt, s. malt. 

Mayd, Mayde, maid. 

Maye, maid, (rhythmi gratia.) 

Mayne, foroe, strength, horse's 



Maze, a labyrinth, anything en- 
tangled or intricate. 

On the top of Catherine-Hill, Win- 
chester, (the usual play-place of the 
school.) was a very perplexed and 
winding path running in a very small 
space over a great deal of ground, 
called a Miz-Maze. The senior boys 
obliged the juniors to tread it, to pre- 
vent the figure from being lost, as I 
am informed by an ingenious corre- 
spondent. 

Mean, moderate, middle sized. 

Meany, retinue, train, company. 

Meed, Meede, reward. 

Meid, s. mood. 

Meise, s. soften, reduce, mitigate. 

Mcit, s. Meet, fit, proper. 

Mell, honey; also, meddle, min- 
gle. 

Me, men, Me con (men 'gan). 

Men of amies, gens d'armes. 

Meniveere, a species of fur. 

Mense the faught, s. p. measure 
the battle. To give to the 
mense, is to give above the 
measure. Twelve, and one to 
the mense, is common with 
children in their play. 

Menzie, s. Meaney, retinue, com- 
pany. 

Merches, marches. 

Messager, f. messenger. 

Me-thunketh, methinks. 

Met, Meit, s. Mete, meet, fit, pro- 
per. 

Meyne. See Meany. 

Mickle, much, great. 

Micht, might. 

Midge, a small insect, a kind of 
gnat. 

Mightte, miglity. 

Minged, mentioned. 

Minny, s. mother. 

Minstral, s. minstrel, musician,iS;c. 

Minstrelsie, music. 

Mirke, s. da.rk, black. 

Mirkie, dark, black. 

Mirry, s. Meri, merry. 

Misdoubt, suspect, doubt. 

3Iiscreants, unbelievers. 

Mishap, misfortune. 

Miskaryed, miscarried. 

Misken, mistake, also, in the Scot- 
tish idiom, "let a thing alone." 
(Mr. Lambe.) 

Mister, s. to need. 

Mither, s. mother. 

3Iode, mood. 

Moiening, by means of, f. 

Mold, mould, ground. 

Mo, Moe, more. 

Mome, a dull, stupid person. 

Monand, moaning, bemoaning. 

Mone, moon. 

3Ion, s. month. 

Monynday, Monday. 



More, originally and properly sig- 
nifies a hill, (from a. s. mon, 
mons,) but the hills of the 
North being generally full of 
bogs, a Moor came to signify 
boggy, marshy ground, in gene- 
ral. 

Mores, hills, wild downs. 

Morrownynges, mornings. 

Mome, To morn, to-morrow in the 
morning. 

Mome, s. on the morrow. 

Mornyng, mourning. 

Mort, death of the deer. 

Mosses, swampy grounds, covered 
with peat moss. 

Most, must. 

Mote I thee, might I thrive. 

Mought, mot, mote, might. 

Mowe, may, Mou, s. mouth. 

Muchele host, Mickle boast, great 
boast. 

Mude, s. mood. 

Mulne, mill. 

Mun, 3Iaun, s, must. 

3Iure, Mures, s. wild downs, 
heaths, <fcc. 

3Iume, Murnt, Murning, s. mourn, 
mourned, mourning. 

3Iusis, muses. 

Myllan, Milan steel. 

Myne-ye-ple, perhaps, many plies, 
or folds. 31onyple is still used 
in this sense in the North. 
(Mr. Lambe.) 

3Iyrry, merry. 

3Iysuryd, misused, applied to a 
bad purpose. 

3fyzt, 3/yzty, might, mighty. 



N. 

Naithing, s. nothing. 

Nams, names. 

Na, Nae, s. no, none. 

Nane, s. none. 

Nar, nor. Item, than. 

Natheless, nevertheless. 

Nat, not. 

Near, s. Ner, Nere, ne'er, never. 

Neat, oxen, cows, large cattle. 

Neatherd, a keeper of cattle. 

Neatresse, a female keeper of cat- 
tle. 

Neigh him neare, approach him 
near. 

Nee, Ne, nigh. 

Neir, s. Nere, ne'er, never. 

Nere ne were, were it not for. 

Neist, Nyest, next, nearest. 

New/angle, Newfangled, fond of 
novelty, of new fashions, &c. 

Nicked Mm of naye, nicked him 
with a refusal. 





GLOSSARY. 


553 


Niclit, s. night. 


Owre, s. over. 


Piece, 8. a little. 


Nipt, pinched. 


Owre word, s. the last word, the 


Pight, Pyght, pitched. 


Noble, a gold coin, in value 20 


burthen of a song. 


Pil'd, peeled, bald. 


groats, or fis. S<7. 


Owt, out. 


Pine, famish, starve. 


Nobles, Noblesse, nobleness. 




Pious chanson, a godly song, or 


Nollys, noddles, heads. 


P. 


ballad. 


Norn, took, Nome, name. 




Mr. Howe's Edit, has "The first row 


Nonce, purpose, For the nonce, for 


Pall, a cloak or mantle of state. 


of the Kubrick." w hich has been sup- 


the occasion. 


Palle, a robe of state. Purple 


posed by Dr. Warburton to refer to 




the red-lettered titles of old Ballads. 


Non, none, None, noon. 


and pall, i. e. a purple robe or 


In the large collection made by Mr. 


Norland, s. northern. 


cloak, a phrase. 


Pepys, I do not remember to have seen 


Norse, s. Norway. 


Palmer, a pilgrim, who, having 


one single ballad with its title printed 
in red letters. 


North-gales, North Wales. 


been at the Holy Land, carried 




Non, now. 


a palm branch in his hand. 


Pile, Pittye, Pyte, pity. 


Nouriee, s. nurse. 


Paramour, lover. Item, a mis- 


Plaine, complaint. 


Nout, Noeht, s. nought, also not, 


tress. 


Plaining, complaining. 


seems for ' ne mought.' 


Parde, Perdie, verily, f. par dieu. 


Playand, s. playing. 


Nowght, nought. 


Paregall, equal. 


Play-feres, playfellows. 


Nowls, noddles, heads. 


Partake, participate, assign to. 


Pleasance, pleasure. 


Noye, annoy, query. 


Parti, party, a part. 


Plein, complain. 


Nozt, nought, not. 


Pattering, murmuring, mumbling, 


Plett, s. platted. 


Nurtured, educated, bred up. 


from the manner in which the 


Plowmell, a small wooden ham- 


Nye., Ny, nigh. 


Paternoster was anciently hur- 


mer occasionally fixed to the 


Nyzt, night. - 


ried over, in a low, inarticulate 


plow, still used in the North; 




voice. 


in the Midland counties in its 




Pa, s. the river Po. 


stead is used a plow-hatchet. 


0. 


Pauley, s. shrewd, cunning, sly, 


Plyzt, plight. 




or saucy, insolent. 


Poll-cat, a cant word for a whore. 


Obraid, s. upbraid. 


Paves, a pavice, a large shield 


Pollys, Powlls, Polls, head. 


Ocht, s. ought. 


that covered the whole body, f. 


Pompal, pompous. 


Oferlyng, superior, paramount, 


pauvois. 


Pondered, a term in Heraldry, for 


opposed to underling. 


Pavilliane, pavillion, tent. 


sprinkled over. 


gin, s. if, a phrase. 


Pay, liking, satisfaction, hence 


Popingny, a parrot. 


Onfoughten, Uvfoughten, unfought. 


well apaid, i. e. pleased, highly 


Porcupig, porcupine, f. porcepig. 


On-loft, aloft. 


satisfied. 


Portemer, perhaps pocket or 


On, one, an. 


Paynim, pagan. 


pouch. Pautoniere in fr. is a 


On, one, On man, one man! 


Pearlins, a coarse sort of bone- 


shepherd's scrip (vide Col- 


One, on. 


lace. 


grave.) 


Ony, s. any. 


Pece, Piece, sc. of cannon. 


Portres, porteress. 


Onys, once. 


Pele, a baker's peel. 


Powlls, polls, heads. 


Or, Ere, before ; or seems to have 


Penon, a banner or streamer, 


Pownnes, pounds, (rhyth. gratia.) 


the force of the Latin vel and 


borne at the top of a lance. 


Pow, Pou, Powed, s. pull, pulled. 


to signify even. 


Pentarchye of tenses, five tenses. 


Preas, Prese, press. 


Or-ere, before. 


Perchminc, f. parchment. 


Preced, pressed, Presed. 


Or-eir, before ever 


Perelous, parlous, perilous, dan- 


Prest, f. ready. 


Orisons, s. prayers, f. ORAISONS. 


gerous. 


Prestly, Prestlye, readily, quickly. 


Ost, Oste, Oost, host. 


Per fay, verily, f. par foy. 


Pricked, spurred forward, travel- 


Ou, Owe, you, your. Ibid., our. 


Peere, Pere, Peer, equal. 


led a good round pace. 


Out alas! exclamation of grief. 


Peer, Peerless, equal, without 


Pricke-wand, a wand set up for a 


Out-brayde, drew out, unsheathed. 


equal. 


mark. 


Out-horn, the summoning to arms 


Perfight, perfect. 


Prickes, the mark to shoot at. 


by the sound of a horn. 


Peering, peeping, looking nar- 


Priefe, prove. 


Out ower, s. quite over, over. 


rowly. 


Pricing, s. proving, tasting. 


Outrake, an out-ride, or expedi- 


Perill, danger. 


Prove, proof. 


tion. To raik, s. is to go fast. 


Perkin, diminutive of Peter. 


Prowess, bravery, valour, military 


Outrake is a common term 


Perlese, peerless. 


gallantry. 


among shepherds. When their 


Pees, Pese, peace. 


Prowes, prowess. 


sheep have a free passage from 


Persit, Pearced, pierced. 


Prude, pride. Item, proud. 


enclosed pastures into open and 


Perte, part. 


Pryke, the mark, commonly a 


airy grounds, they call it a good 


Pertyd, parted. 


hazle wand. 


outrake. (Mr. Lambe.) 


Petye, pity. 


Pryme, daybreak. 


Oware of none, hour of noon. 


Peyn, pain. 


Puing, s. pulling. 


Owches, bosses or buttons of gold. 


Philomene, Philomel, the nightin- 


Puissant, strong, powerful. 


Owene, Awen, Ain, s. own. 


gale. 


Pulde, pulled. 


Owre, Owr, a. o'er. 


Pibrochs, s. Highland war- tunes. 


Purchased, procured. 



554 


GLOSSARY. 






Purfel, an ornament of embroid- 


Reekt, regarded. 


Puea, Rwethe, pitieth. 


ery. 


Rede, Read, advise, advice. 


Rugged, pulled with violence. 




Purfelled, embroiderod. 


Rede, Redde, read. 


Rushy, should be Rashy gair, 




Purvayed, provided. 


Redresse, care, labour. 


rushy stuff, ground covered 






Refe, bereave, or perhaps Rive, 


with rushes. 




Q. 


split. 


Ruthful, rueful, woful. 




Refe, Reve, Reeve, bailiff. 


Ruth, pity. 




Quadrant, four-square. 


Reft, bereft. 


Ruthe, pity, woe. 




Quail, shrink, flinch, yield. 


Register, the officer who keeps the 


Rydere, ranger. 




Quaint, cunning, nice, fantastical. 


public register. 


Ryde, i. e. make an inroad. 




Quarry, in hunting or hawking 


Re id, s. advise. 


Rynde, rent. 




is the slaughtered game, <fec. 


Re>'d, s. reed, Rede, red. 


Ryschys, rushes. 




Quat, s. quitted. 


Reidroan, s. red-roan. 


Rywe, rue. 




Quay, Quhey, s. a young heifer, 


Reek, s. smoke. 


Ryzt, right. 




called a Whie in Yorkshiro. 


Relceles, Recklesse, regardless, void 






Quean, sorry, base woman. 


of care, rash. 


S. 




Quell, subdue, also kill. 


Remeid, s. remedy. 






Quel, cruel, murderous. 


Renneth, Penning, runneth, run- 


Safer, sapphyre. 




Quelch, a blow or bang. 


ning. 


Saft, s. soft. 




Quere, quire, choir. 


Renn, run. 


Saif, s. safe. 




Quest, inquest. 


Renish, Renisat, perhaps a deriva- 


Sair, s. sore. 




Quha, s. who. 


tion from Reniteo, to shine. 


Saim, s. same. 




Quhair, s. where. 


Renyed, refused. 


Sail, s. shall. 




Quliar, s. where. 


Rescous, rescues. 


Saif, s. save, Savely, safely. 




Quhan, Whan, s. when. 


Reeve, bailiff. 


Saisede, seized. 




Quhaneer, s. whene'er. 


Reve, bereave, deprive. 


Sark, shirt, shift. 




Quhatten, s. what. 


Revets, s. robbers, pirates, rovers. 


Sar, Sair, s. sore. 




Quhat, s. what. 


Peweth, regrots, has reason to re- 


Sa, Sae, s. so. 




Quhen, s. when. 


pent. 


Sat, Sete, set. 




Quhy, s. why. 


Pew, s. take pity. 


Saut, s. salt. 




Quick, alive, living. 


Pewth, ruth, Retoe, pity. 


Savyde, saved. 




Quillets, quibbles, 1. quidlibet. 


Pyall, Ryal, royal. 


Saw, Say, speech, discourse. 




Quitt, requite. 


Richt, s. right. 


Say, Assay, attempt. 




Quo, quoth. 


Piddle, seems to be a vulgar 


Say, saw. 




Quyle, s. while. 


idiom for unriddle ; or is per- 


Say us no harm, say no ill of us. 




Qnyrry. See Quarry, above. 


haps a corruption of reade, i. e. 


Sayne, say. 




Quyle, requited. 


advise. 


Scant, scarce. Item, scantiness. 




Quyt, s. quite. 


Ride, make an inroad. 


Schall, shall. 




QwyJcnit, s. quickened, restored 


Pin, s. run. Pin my errand, a con- 


Schap>ped, perhaps swapped. Vid. 


s 


to life. 


tracted way of speaking for 


loc. 






" run on my errand." The pro- 


Sehattered, shattered. 




R. 


noun is omitted. So the French 


Schaw, 8. show. 






say faire message. 


Schene, s. Sheen, shining, also 




Bade, s. rode. 


Rise, shoot, bush, shrub. 


brightness. 




Rae, a roe. 


Rive, rife, abounding. 


Schip, s. ship. 




Ha ilc, s. to go a-pace, Railc on 


Roche, rock. 


Schiples, s. shipless. 




raw, go fast in a row. 


Roode-cross, crucifix. 


Scho, Sche, s. she. 




Paine, reign. 


Rood-loft, the place in the church 


Schone, shone. 




Raise, s. rose. 


where the images were set up. 


Schoote, shot, let go. 




Ranted, s. were merry. Vide 


Rood, Roode, cross, crucifix. 


Schoiete, Schoiotte, shout. 




Gloss, to Gentle Shepherd. 


Ronne, ran, Roone, run. 


Schrill, s. shrill. 




Pushing, seems to be the old 


Roufe, roof. 


Schuke, s. shook. 




hunting term for the stroke 


Route, go about, travel. 


Sclat, slate, little table-book of 




made by a wild boar with his 


Routhe, ruth, pity. 


slates to write upon. 




fangs. 


Rowned, Pownyd, whispered. 


Scomft, discomfit. 




/In ught, reached, gained, obtained. 


Row, Rowd, s. roll, rolled. 


Scot, tax, revenue, a year's tax 




Rayne, reane, rain. 


Rowyned, round. 


of the kingdom, also shot, reck- 




Raysse, race. 


Powght, rout. 


oning. 




Razt, Raught, or self-bereft. 


Rudd, ruddiness, complexion. 


Scathe, hurt, injury. 




Reachles, careless. 


Rude, s. Rood, cross. 


Sed, said. 




Reade, Rede, advise, hit off. 


Ruell-hones, perhaps bonos di- 


Seilc, s. Seke, s. seek. 




Read, advice. 


versly coloured, f. Riole, or per- 


Sek, sack. 




Rea'me, Reaume, realm. 


haps siaall bono rings from the 


Sel, Sell, self. 




Reas, raise. 


f. rouelle, a small ring or hoop. — 


Selver, Siller, silver. 




Reave, bereave. 


Cotgrave's Diet. 


Seneschal!, steward. 







GLOSSARY. 


555 


Sene, seen. 


Sich, Sic, s. such, Sick, s. sigh. 


French word saouler, " to stuff 


Sen, a. since. 


Sick-like, s. such-like. 


and cram, to glut." Vid. Cot- 


Senvy, mustard seed, f. senvie. 


Side, s. long. 


grave). 


Sertayne, Sertenlye, certain, cer- 


Sied, s. saw. 


Sowden, Sowdain, sultan. 


tainly. 


Sigh-clout, (Sythe-clout), a clout 


Sowne, sound, (rhyt. gr.) 


See, Sees, s. sea, seas. 


to strain milk through, a strain- 


Sowre, sour. 


Se, Sene, Seying, see, seen, seeing. 


ing clout. 


Sowre, Soare, sore. 


Seething, boiling. 


Sighan, Sighand, s. sighing. 


Sowter, shoemaker. 


Seetywall, see Cetywall. 


Sik, Sike, such. 


Soy, f. silk. 


Seve, seven. 


Siker, surely, certainly. 


Spak, Spaik, s. spake. 


Sey you, say to, tell you. 


Siller, s. silver. 


Speere. Vide locum. 


Sey, s. say, a kind of woollen 


Sindle, s. seldom. 


Spec, Spak, Spack, s. spake. 


stuff. 


Sitteth, sit ye. 


Sped, speeded, succeeded. 


Seyd, s. saw. 


Sith, since. 


Speik, s. speak. 


Shave, Be shave, be shaven. 


Skaith, Scath, harm, mischief. 


Speir, s. Spere, Speare, Speere, 


Shaws, little woods. 


Skalk, perhaps from the Germ. 


Spire, ask, inquire. 


Shear, entirely, (penitus). 


Schalck, malicious, perverse 


So Chaucer, in his Rhyme of Sir 


Sheele, She'll, she will. 


(Sic Dan. Skalek nequitia, ma- 


Thopas, 


Sheene, Shene, shining. 


licia, &c. Sheringham de Ang. 


" He soughte north and south, 


Sheits, Sheles, s. sheets. 


Orig. p. 318); or perhaps from 


And oft he spired with his mouth." 
i. e. inquired. — not spied, as in the 


Shee's, she shall. 


the Germ. Schalchen, to squint. 


new edition of Canterbury Tales, vol. 


Sheene, shining. 


Hence our northern word Skelly, 


ii. p. 234. 


Shent, shamed, disgraced, abused. 


to squint. 


Spence, Spens, expense. 


Shepenes, Shipens, cow-houses, 


Skinker, one that serves drink. 


Spendyd, probably the same as 


sheep-pens, a. s. Scypen. 


Skinkled, s. glittered. 


spanned, grasped. 


Shcere, Shive, a great sliee or 


Skomfit, discomfit. 


Speered, Sparred, i. e. fastened, 


luncheon of bread. 


Skott, shot, reckoning. 


shut. 


Shield-bone, the blade bone, a 


Slade, a breadth of greensward 


So in an old " Treaty se agaynst 


common phrase in the north. 


between plow-lands or woods, 


Pestilence, &c, 4to. Emprinted by 


Shimmered, s. glittered. 


&c. 


Wynkyn de Worde," we are exhorted 


Shimmering, shining by glances. 


Slaited, s. whetted, or perhaps 


to " spere (i. e. shut, or bar) the wyn- 
dowes agenst the south," fol. 5. 


Shirt of mule or mail, was a gar- 


wiped. 




ment for defence, made all of 


Slattered, slit, broke into splinters. 


Spillan, Spilland, s. spilling. 


rings of iron, worn under the 


Slaw, slew, (Sc. Abel). 


Spill, Spille, spoil, come to harm. 


coat. According to some the 


Slean, Slone, slain. 


Spill, spoil, destroy, kill. 


hauberk was so formed. 


Sleaih, slayeth. 


Spindles and whorles, the instru- 


Shoen, s. Shoone, shoes. 


Slee, s. slay, also sly. 


ments used for spinning in 


Shoke, shookest. 


Sle, Slee, Sley, Slo, slay, Sleest, 


Scotland, instead of spinning 


Shold, Sholde, should. 


slayest. 


wheels. 


Shope, shaped. 


Sleip, s. Slepe, sleep. 


The rock, spindles, and whorles are 


Shope, betook me. 


Slode, slit, split. 


very much used in Scotland and the 
northern parts of Northumberland, at 


Shorte, s. shorten. 


Slone, slain. 


this time. The thread for shoemakers, 


Sho, Seho, s. she. 


Slo, Sloe, slay. 


and even linen webs, and all the twine 




of which the Tweed salmon nets are 


Shote, shot. 


Sloughe, slew. 


made, are spun upon spindles. They 


Shradds, Vid. locum. 


Smithers, s. smothers. 


are said to make a more even and 


Shread, cut into small pieces. 


Sna', Snaw, s. snow. 


smooth thread than spinning wheels. 
Mr. Lam be. 


Shreeven, Shriven, confessed her 


Soil, Saulle, Sowle, soul. 




sins. 


Soldain, Soldan, Sowden, sultan. 


Sporeles, spurless, without spurs. 


Shrew, a bad, an ill-tempered per- 


Sonn, s. Son, sun. 


Spole, shoulder ; f. espaule. It 


son. 


Sond, a present, a sending. 


seems to mean, "arm-pit." 


Shreward, a male shrew. 


Sone, soon. 


Sprente, spurted, sprung out. 


Shrift, confession. 


Sort, company. 


Spurging, froth that purges out 


Shrive, confess. Item, hear con- 


Sooth ly, truly. 


Spurn, Spume, a kick. See Tear. 


fession. 


Sooth, truth, true. 


Spyde, spied. 


Shroggs, shrubs, thorns, briers. 


Soth, Sothe, South, Southe, Soath, 


Spylt, spoiled, destroyed. 


G. Doug. Scroggi8. 


truth. 


Spyt, Spyte, spite. 


Shullen, shall. 


Soth-Ynglonde, South England. 


Squelsh, a blow, or bang. 


Shulde, should. 


Sottdan, Soudain, sultan. 


Stabille, perhaps 'stablish. 


Shunted, shunned. 


Souldan, Soldan, Sowdan, sultan. 


Stalwart, Stalworth, stout. 


Shurting, recreation, diversion, 


Sould, s. Suld, should. 


Stalworthlye, stoutly. 


pastime. Vid. Gawin Douglas's 


Souling, victualling. Sowle is 


Stane, s. Stean, stone. 


Gloss. 


still used in the north for any 


Stark, stiff, entirely. 


Shyars, shires. 


thing eaten with bread ; a. s. 


Startopes, buskins, or half boots 


Shynand, s. shining. 


suvle, suple, Joh. xxi. 5, (or 


worn by rustics, laced down be- 


Sib, kin, akin, related. 


to sowle, may be from the 


fore 



556 



GLOSSARY. 



Stead, Stede, place. 
Stean, s. stone. 
Steedye, steady. 
Stel, steel, Steilly, s. steely. 
Stele, steel. 
S' i id, s. Stede, steed. 
Steir, s. stir. 
Stem's, stars. 

Sterne, stern, or porhaps, stars. 
Stcrt, start, started. 
Stcrte, Sterted, started. 
Steven, time. 
Steven, voice. 
Still, quiet, silent. 
Stint, stop, stopped. 
Stirande stage, a friend inter- 
preted this, " many a stirring 
travelling journey." 
Stonderes, standers by. 
Stoup of weir, pillar of war. 
Stound, Stonde, (Intro.) space, 

moment, hour, time. 
Slim iid, time, Astound, a-while. 
Stour, Stower, Stoure, fight, dis- 
turbance, &c. This word is 
applied in the north to signify 
dust agitated and put into mo- 
tion, as by the sweeping of a 
room. 
Stower, Stowre, stir, disturbance, 

fight. 
Stoion, stolen. 

Stotore, strong, robust, fierce. 
Stra, Strae, s. straw. 
Streight, straight. 
Strekene, Stricken, struck. 
Stret, street. 
Strick, strict. 
Strike, stricken. 
Stroke, struck. 
Stude, Stuid, s. stood. 
Styntyde, stinted, stayed, stopped. 
Styrt, start. 
Suar, sure. 

Summere, a sumpter horse. 
Sum, s. some. 
Sumpters, horses that carry 

clothes, furniture, &c. 
Sune, s. soon. 
Suore by ys chin, sworn by his 

chin. 
Surcease, cease. 
Suthe, Swith, soon, quickly. 
Swapte, Sxoapped, Swopede, struck 
violently, Scot. Sweap, to 
scourge, (vid. Gl. Gaw. Dougl.) 
or perhaps exchanged; sc. 
blows, so " Swap or Swopp>" 
signifies. 
Swaird, the grassy surface of the 

ground. 
Swarvde, Swarvcd, climbed, or, 
as it is now expressed in the 
midland counties, Sioarm, To 
swarm, is to draw oneself up a 



tree, or any other thing, cling- 
ing to it with the legs and arms, 
as hath been suggested by an 
ingenious correspondent. 

Stoa, Sa, so. 

Swat, Swatte, Swotte, did sweat. 

Swear, sware. 

Swearde, Swerd, sword. 

Sweare, swearing, oath. 

Sweaven, a dream. 

Sweit, s. Swete, sweet. 

Sweere, Swire, neck. 

Sweypyls. A Sweypyl is that staff 
of the flail, with which corn is 
beaten out, vulg. a Supple, 
called in the midland counties, 
a Swindgell, where the other 
part is termed the hand-stuff. 

Swinkers, labourers. 

Swith, quickly, instantly. 

Swyke, sigh. 

Swyoing, whoring. 

Swypyng, striking fast, (Cimb. 
Suipan, cito agere, or rather 
" scourging" from volvere, rap- 
tare). — Scot. Sweap, to scourge. 
Vide. Glossary to Gawin Dou- 
glas. 

Sych, such. 

Syde-shear, Sydis-shear, on all 
sides. 

Syd, side. 

Syne, s. then, afterwards. 

Syshemell, Ishmael. 

Syth, since. 

Syzt, sight. 



Taiken, s. token, sign. 

Taine, s. Tane, token. 

Take, taken. 

Talents, perhaps golden orna- 
ments, hung from her head to 
the value of talents of gold. 

Targe, target, shield. 

Tear, this seems to be a proverb, 
" That tearing, or pulling, oc- 
casioned his spurn or kick." 

Teene, Tene, sorrow, indignation, 
wrath, properly injury affront. 

Teene/u, s. full of iudignation, 
wrathful, furious. 

Te he ! interjection of laughing. 

Teir, s. Tere, tear. 

Tent, s. heed. 

Termagaunt, the god of the Sa- 
racens. See a memoir on this 
subject in page 75. 

The old French romancers, who had 
corrupted termagant into tervagant, 
couple it with the name of Mahomet, 
as constantly as ours : thus, in the old 
ltoman de Blanchardin, 

" Cy guer pisou tuit Apolin, 
Et Mahomet et Tergavant" 



Ilence Fontaine, with great humour, 
in his tale entitled "La Fiancee du 
Koy de Garbe," says, 
" Et reviant Mahom. Jupin, et Terva- 
gant, 
Avec maint autre die unon moins ex- 
travagant." 
Mem. de l'Acad. des Inscript. torn. 20, 
4to, p. 352. 

As termagant is evidently of Anglo- 
Saxon derivation, and can only be ex- 
plained from the elements of that lan- 
guage; its being corrupted by the old 
French romancers proves that they 
borrowed some things from ours. 

Terry, diminutive of Thierry, 

Theodoricus, Didericus. Lat. 

also of Terence. 
Te, to, Te make, to make. 
Tha, them, Thah, though. 
Thair, their, Thair, Thare, there. 
Thame, s. them. 
Than, s. then. 

Thare, Theire, Ther, Thore, there. 
Thear, Ther, there. 
Thee, thrive, Mote he thee, may he 

thrive. 
The God, seems contracted for 

The he, i. e. high God. 
The, Thee, thrive. So mote I thee, 

so may I thrive. 

So in Chaucer, passim, Canterbury 

Tales, vol. i. p. 308. 

" God let him never the." 

The, they, The wear, they were. 

The, thee, Thend, the end. 

Ther-for, therefore. 

Therto, thereto, Thes, these. 

Ther, their. 

Thii, they. 

Thie, thy, Thoice, thou. 

Thi sone, thy son. 

Thilke, this. 

Thir toicmonds, s. these twelve 
months. 

Thir, s. this, these. 

Thirtti thousent, thirty thousand. 

Thocht, thought. 

Thole, Tholed, suffer, suffered. 

Tho, then, those, the. 

Thouse, s. thou art. 

Thoust, thou shalt, or shouldest. 

Thrall, captive, Thraldom, cap- 
tivity. 

Thrang, s. throng, close. 

Thrawis, s. throes. 

Threape, to argue, to affirm or 
assert, in a positive overbearing 
manner. 

Thre, Thrie, s. three. 

Thrie, Thre, three. 

Thrif, thrive. 

Thrilled, twirled, turned round. 

Thritte, thirty. 

Throng, hastened. 

Thropes, villagos. 
Throw, s. through. 
Thruch, Throuch, s. through. 
Thud, noise of a fall. 





GLOSSARY. 


557 


Thewcs, manners, limbs. 


twisted, " twisted," " twirled 


Wame, s. womb. 


Theyther-ward, thitherward, to- 


twist," f. tortille. 


Wame, Wem, s. belly. 


wards that place. 




Wane, the same as Ane, one. So 


Tibbe. In Scotland, Tibbe is the 




Wone, is one. 


diminutive of Isabel. 


U. 


In fol. 355 of Bannatyne's MS. is a 


Tift, s. puff of wind. 




short fragment in which Wane is used 


Till, s. to, when, query. 


Uch, each. 


for Ane ; or, one : viz. 


Till, unto, entice. 


Ugsome, s. shocking, horrible. 


'• Amongst the monsters that we find, 
There's wane belovved of womankind, 


Tild down, pitched, qt. 


Unbethought, for bethought. So 


Renowned for antiquity, 


Timkin, diminutive of Timothy. 


Unlosse, for loose. 


From Adame drivs his pedigree." 


Tine, lose. 


Unctuous, fat, clammy, oily. 


Wan rteir, s. draw near. 


Tint, s. lost. 


Undermerles, afternoons. 


Wanrufe, s. uneasy. 


Tirled, twirled, turned round. 


Undight, undecked, undressed. 


War, aware. 


Too-fall, s. twilight. 


Unkempt, uncombed. 


Warde, s. advise, forewarn. 


Too-ftill of the night, " seems to be an 
image drawn from a suspended canopy, 


Unmacklye, mis-shapen. 
Unmufit, s. undisturbed, uncon- 


Ward, s. watch, sentinel. 


B< i let fall as to cover what is below." — 


Warke, s. work. 


Mr. Lauibe. 


founded, perhaps Unmuvil. 


World, s. world. 


To, too. Item, two. 


Unseeled, opened ; a term in falcn. 


Warldis, s. worlds. 


Tone, T'one, the one. 


Unsett steven, unappointed time, 


Waryson, reward. 


Ton, Tone, the one. 


unexpectedly. 


Waryd, s. accursed. 


Tor, a tower; also a high pointed 


Unsonsie, s. unlucky, unfortunate. 


Wassel, drinking, good cheer. 


rock, or hill. 


Untyll, unto, against. 


Wate, s. Weete, Wete, Witte, Wot, 


Tow, Towe, two, Twa, s. two. 


Ure, use. 


Wote, Wotte, know. 


Tow, s. to let down with a rope, 


Uthers, s. others. 


Wate, s. blamed, Prtet. of Wyte, 


<fec. 




to blame. 


Towyn, town. 




Wat, Wot, know, am aware. 


Traiterye, treason. 


V. 


Wat, s. wet, also knew. 


Trenchant, f. cutting. 




Wax, to grow, become. 


Tres-hardie, f. thrice hardy. 


Vair, (Somersetsh. Dialect,) fair. 


Wayward, froward, peevish. 


Treylory, Traitory, treachery. 


Valzienl, s. valiant. 


Wayde, waved. 


Trichard, treacherous, fr. tricheur. 


Yazen, (Soni.) probably for Fai- 


Weal, wail. 


Tricthen, trick, deceive. 


then, i. e. faiths ; as Housen, 


Weale, happiness, prosperity, Ac. 


Tride, tried. 


Closen, &C. 


Weare in, s. drive in gently. 


Trie, s. Tre, tree. 


Venu, (Intro.) approach, coming. 


Wearifu', wearisome, tiresome, 


Triest furth, s. draw forth to an 


Vices, (probably contracted for 


disturbing. 


assignation. 


devices) screws, or perhaps, 


Weede, clothing, dress. 


Trifulcate, three forked, three 


turning pins, swivels. An in- 


Weedes, clothes. 


pointed. 


genious friend thinks a vice is 


Wee, s. little. 


Trim, exact. 


rather " a spindle of a press," 


Weel, well, also we'll. 


Troth, truth, faith, fidelity. 


that goeth by a vice, that seem- 


Ween, Wcen'd, think, thought. 


Trough, Trouth, troth. 


eth to move of itself. 


Weet, s. wet. 


Troivthe, Troth, Tru, true. 


Vilane, rascally. 


Wedous, widows. 


Trow, believe, trust, also vority. 


Vive, (Somerset.) five. 


Weil, s. Weepe, weep. 


Trumped, boasted, told bragging 


Voyded, quitted, left the place. 


Weinde, s. Wcnde, Went, Weende, 


lies, lying stories. So in the 


Vriers, (Som.) friars. 


Weened, thought. 


north they say, "that's a trump," 




Weid, s. Wede, Weed, clothes, 


i. e. a lie ; " she goes about 




clothing. 


trumping," i. e. telling lies. 


W. 


Weird, wizzard, witch, properly 


Trumps, made of a tree, perhaps, 




fate, destiny. 


" wooden trumpets," musical 


Wa, s. wa, wall. 


Well away, exclamation of pity. 


instruments fit enough for a 


Wadded, perhaps from Woad, 


Weldynge, ruling. 


mock tournament. 


i. e. of a light blue colour. 


Wei of pite, source of pity. 


Tuik, s. took. 


Taylor, in his History of Gavel-kind, 


Welkin, the sky. 


Tuke gude Jceip, s. kept a close 
eye upon her. 


p. 49, says, '• Bright, from the British 
word brith, which signifies their wad- 


Weme, womb, belly, hollow. 


de-cokntr ; this was a light blue." — 


Wem, (Intro.) hurt. 


Tul, s. till, to. 


Minshew's Dictionary. 


Wende, went, Wendeth, goeth. 


Turn, such turn, such an occasion. 


Wad, s. Wold, Wolde, woold. 


Wende, Weene, thought. 


Turnes a crab, sc. at the fire roasts 


Wae, Wae/o', woe, woful. 


Wend, Wends, go, goes. 


a crab. 


Waeworih, s. woo betide. 


Wene, Weenest, ween, weenest. 


Tush, an interjection of contempt, 


Waine, wagon. 


Werre, Weir, s. war. Warris, B. 


or impatience. 


Wallowit, s. faded, withered. 


wars. 


Twa, s. two. 


Walker, a fuller of cloth. 


Werryed, worried. 


Twayne, two. 


Waltered, Weltered, rolled along, 


Wereth, defendeth. 


Twiu'd, s. parted, separated. Vid. 


also wallowed. 


Werke, work. 


G. Douglas. 


Waltering, weltering. 


Wer, were. 


Twirtle, twist, s. thoroughly j 


Waty, an interjection of grief. 


Wes, was. 



558 



GLOSSARY. 



Wondersly, Wonderly, won- 
drously. 

Won, wont, usage. 

Wone, one. 

Worshipfully friended, of wor- 
shipful friends. 

Worthe, worthy. 

Wot, know, think. 

Wote, Wot, know, I wote, verily. 

Wonche, mischief, evil, a. s. pohjr, 
i. e. Wogh. Malum. 

Wo, Woo, woe. 

Wow, an exclamation of wonder, 
also Vow, London dialect. 

Wracke, ruin, destruction. 

Wrang, s. wrung. 

Wreake, pursue revengefully. 

Wrench, wretchedness. 

Wright, write. 

Wringe, contended with violence. 

Writhe, writhed, twisted. 

Wronge, wrong. 

Wrougt, wrought. 

Wroken, revenged. 

Wull, s. will. 

Wyght, strong, lusty. 

Wyghtye, the same. 

Wyld, wild deer. 

Wynne, Win, joy. 

Wynnen, win, gain. 

Wynde, Wende, go. 

Wyste, knew. 

Wyte, blame. 

Wyt, Wit, Weet, know. 



Westlin, s. western. 

Westlings, western, or whistling. 

Wha, s. who. 

Whair, s. where. 

Whan, s. when. 

Whang, s. a large slice. 

Wheclyng, wheeling. 

Wheder, whither. 

Whig, sour whey, or butter-milk. 

While, until. 

Whilk, s. which. 

Whittles, knives. 

Whit, jot. 

Whoard, hoard. 

Whorles. Vide Spindles. 

Whos, whoso. 

Whyllys, whilst. 

Wi', s. with. 

Wight, person, strong, lusty. 

Wight, human creature, man or 
woman. 

Wight y, strong, lusty, activo, 
nimble. 

Wightlye, vigorously. 

Will, s. shall. 

Wild, worm, serpent. 

Wildings, wild apples. 

Wilfull, wandering, perverse, err- 
ing. 

Winnae, will not. 

Windar, perhaps the contraction 
of Windhover, a kind of hawk. 

Windling, s. winding. 

Win, s. get, gain. 

Winsome, agreeable, engaging. 

Wirke wislier, work more wisely. 

Wisse, direct, govern, take care 
of, a. s. piprian. 

Wiss, know, wist, knew. 

Wit, Weet, know, understand. 

Withouten, Withoitghten, without. 

Wobstcr, s. Webster, weaver. 

Wood-icroth, s. furiously enraged. 

Woodweele, or Wodewale, the 
golden ourle, a bird of the 
thrush kind. Gloss. Chauc. 
The original MS. has Wood- 
weete. 

Wode, Wod, wood, also mad. 

Wode-toard, towards the wood. 

Woe-begone, lost in woe, over- 
whelmed with grief. 

Woe-man, a sorrowful man. 

Woe-worth, woe be to [you], a. s. 
northan (fieri) to be, to become. 

Woe, woful, sorrowful. . 

Wolde, would. //■) 

Wonne, dwell. *-^ 

Wonders, wondrous. 

Wonde, (Intro.) wound, winded. 

Won'd, Wonn'd, dwelt. 

*-.£* The printer has usually substituted the letter z, to express the character 7, which occurs in old 
MSS., but we are not to suppose that this g was ever pronounced as our modern z ; it had rather the 
force of y (and perhaps of gh), being no other than the Saxon letter t, which the Scots and English 
have, in many instances, changed into y, as Tearib> yard, Tean, year, Teonjr, young, &c. 



Y, I, Y synge, I sing. 

Yae, s. each. 

Yalping, s. yelping. 

Yaned, yawned. 

Yave, gave. 

Yate, gate. 

Y-beare, Y-boren, bear, borne. 

So Y-founde, found, Y-mad, 

made, Y-wonne, won. 
Y-built, built. SI , 

Ych, Yche, each. / M 

Ycholde yef, I should if. 
Ychone, each one. 
Ychon, each one. 
Ychulle, (Intro.) I shall. 
Ychyseled, cut with the chisel. 
Y-cleped, named, called. 
Y-con'd, taught, instructed. 
Y-eore, chosen. 

r<« e , idie.jj d -23 2 

Yee, eye. 
Yearded, buried. 
Ye bent, Y-benl, bent. 
Yede, Yode, went. 



Ye seth, Y-seth, in faith. 

Ycha, Ilka, each, every. 

Yeldyde, yielded. 

Yenoughe, ynoughe, enough. 

Yerrarchy, hierarchy. 

Yere, Yeere, year, years. 

Yerle, Yerlle, earl. 

Yerly, early. 

Yese, s. ye shall. 

Yestreen, s. yester evening. 

Yf, if. 

Yfere, together. 

Y-founde, found. 

Ygnoraunce, ignorance. 

Yll, ill. 

Yllce, Ilk, same, That ylk, that 
same. 

Ylythe, (Intro.) listen. 

Yn, in. 

Yn house, home. 

Ynglonde, England. 

Yngglishe, Ynglysshe, English. 

Yode, went. 

Youe, you. 

Y-pieking, picking, culling, ga- 
thering. 

Ys, is, his, in his. 

Y-slato, slain. 

Ystonge, (Intro.) stung. 

Yt, it. 

Yth, in the. 

Y-were, were. 

Y-wis, I wis, verily. 

Y-wrought, wrought. 

Y-wys, truly, verily. 

Y-yote, molten, melted. 



Zacring-bell, Som. Sacring bell, a 
little bell rung to give notice 
of the elevation of the host. 

Zee, Zeene, Som. see, seen. 

Zees, ye shall. 

Ze, s. ye, Zee're, ye are. 

Zede, Yede, went. 

Zef, Yef, it. 

Zeirs, s. years. 

Zellow, s. yellow. 

Zeme, take care of, a. s. seman. 

Zent, through, a. s. zeonfc). 

Zestrene, s. yester e'en. 

Zit, s. Zet, yet. 

Zonder, s. yonder. 

Zong, 3. young. 

Zou, s. you, Zour, s. your. 

Zoud, s. you'd, you would. 

Zour-lane, Yourlane, alone, by 
yourself. 

Zouth, s. youth. 

Zule, s. Yule, christmas. 

Zung, s. young. 









^ v N *i^:* <^ a?* .;••- *> v *j^ 







«5 °^ - 






c* *-r^^- ~o 




0_ - ^Kj^>. 













'V* 




-0* .-^ °o -■* - ' 



- *, 






6° .* 







^ 



*°^ v 



^ 















•> \ -^* / v -^ / \ ™ ,/,.. v 













>* • «/•- '*> 






fa 

0° 




•»'• <v 











D0BBSBR0S. A ^ .«•'•♦ "*b 

■ ■RARY BINDING ^O .♦„_/***,* 











r^* .o° ^ * 



